


to burn like tinder

by kremlin



Series: to burn like tinder series [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-01-29 23:25:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 88,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12641442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kremlin/pseuds/kremlin
Summary: Following her dream of pursuing a master's degree, Feyre breaks off her engagement to her college boyfriend and moves to Velaris, for once doing something just for her own sake. But her best friend’s request and a boring evening lead to a fateful encounter.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies,
> 
> this is my very first fic and I hope you will enjoy!  
> I apologize in advance for weird language use and lots of typos; I'm not a native speaker of English.
> 
> All characters belong to Sarah J Maas, though the plot will not follow the ACoTaR-series, but in fact is loosely based on how I met my husband :D  
> I appreciate your feedback!

„Come again?“

Feyre put down the glass of wine she had been nursing and turned to look at her best friend’s face.

„Please Feyre, just to have a look at it! You can deinstall the App whenever you want. I just really… I need to have a look at it!“.

Alis‘ lovely, round face was pleading and her brown eyes held a hint of desperation. Feyre snorted a laugh through her nose and shook her head in disbelief.

„Alis, if YOU want to check out Tinder, I don’t see why I have to install it on MY phone and create an account in MY name.“

And with that, she went back to her glass of delicious Chardonnay and nestled deeper into the comfy couch.

They were currently having a girls night, having tucked in Alis‘ nephews, whom she looked after since her sister and her husband had died, just 30 minutes before. It had been a long time since they had been able to meet up with just the two of them, open a bottle of wine, and talk. Alis was busy with earning a living and suddenly taking on the responsibility of being the mother of two boys, while Feyre was still adjusting after the changes of the last months.

After breaking it off with her boyfriend – _fiancé_ actually – (Feyre cringed inwardly at the thought) she had moved all the way across the country to Velaris to pursue a master’s degree in Arts History. She and Alis had been friends for years, having meet during their undergraduate studies at Springfield U and keeping close ever since. Even when Feyre’s overprotective and controlling ex-boyfriend/fiancé had isolated her from most of her friends, or when Alis had to move away to take care of the boys, they kept in contact and stayed friends. And when Feyre got accepted into the post-grad program at Velaris U, she didn’t hesitate to take up the opportunity to get on with her studies, to pursue something just for her own sake, and get out of the toxic relationship that threatened to drown her alive. Getting to live close to Alis again had been the icing on the cake.

Alis let out a heavy sigh and took up her own glass.

“I can’t be on Tinder, Feyre. I’m afraid to run into my ex there. I don’t want him to know I’m available and looking.”

Feyre raised her eyebrows at that.

Alis casted her eyes down and played with the stem of her wineglass, but went on to explain: “We’ve been running into each other lately, and I don’t know… he seems so happy, being single and all, and I’m… well, I’m not unhappy, I’m just lonely and it’s been really long since I’ve been with someone. So I thought, why not try Tinder and meet people. Just to… I don’t know… to talk to guys. Flirt with someone. With the boys and everything I can’t just go to places whenever I want and pick up guys. But where am I supposed to meet people? At the PTA-meeting? At aisle 5 in CVS? During work? I never get out anymore. Not even on my free nights.”

That last sentence was accompanied with a sharp look in Feyre’s direction and she immediately felt guilty. They used to go clubbing or partying all the time, visiting their favorite clubs or participate in every party their circle of friend threw at their house.

Actually, that was how they’d met in the first place; during a mutual friend’s party, drinking and dancing away through the whole night and instantly bonding over their common interests and the fact they were older than most of the other students in their year. Alis was actually 5 years older than Feyre, the same age as her oldest sister Nesta. When they met, Feyre had just turned 22, but she felt much older, especially compared to all the other freshmen, who were barely 18 years old, never had worked a day in their life, and took college for granted, whereas Feyre had had to work her ass of all of her life, taking on responsibilities from an early age on and saw the college education as the privilege that it was. It was no wonder she felt closer in age to Alis, who had gone through similar experiences, than with the others. But Feyre had been determined to catch up on the fun, so she and Alis partied their way through most of freshmen and sophomore year, before Feyre met Tamlin. And because Tamlin hadn’t liked Feyre going to parties without him or his friends looking after her, didn’t like her drinking, didn’t like her talking to other men…

 _Stop thinking about Tamlin_ , Feyre chided herself. But it was the truth. She had let her ex make decisions for her, let him control her life to a point where she hadn’t even spent time with her friends anymore, because Tamlin hadn’t liked them or simply hadn’t allow her to.

Yet, the truth was that now, even when she was finally free of him and her own person again, she would rather sit on Alis’ couch, drink a bottle of wine and talk, than dance away in an overcrowded club with other people bumping into her, or spilling their drinks on her, or – _Cauldron –_ trying to feel her up.

 _Seems like I have caught up on the fun,_ Feyre thought bitterly. And yet, she realized guiltily, while she might be content sitting here and sipping wine, Alis was in desperate need for some fun.

It was this guilt she felt, the thought that she was somehow letting Alis down, that made her say: “Well, it’s only for tonight, okay? I’ll download this silly app and you can get a look. But we won’t write anyone and you’ll most certainly will NOT use my account for your shenanigans!”

Alis’ face brightened and she nodded eagerly. Feyre gulped down the last of her wine, set the glass on the coffee table and threw Alis a nasty look, before motioning for her refill her glass, while she dug out her phone and opened the App Store.

 _I can’t believe we’re doing this,_ Feyre thought when she found the app and pressed the download button.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a few weeks and Feyre still has Tinder on her phone. During a boring night, Feyre can't withstand the app's temptations and starts swiping.
> 
> *** trigger warning: mention of abusive relationship ***

Feyre was fuming. She threw the door shut behind her and chucked off her heels as she stomped through her apartment, not caring which direction they flew. She dropped her clutch with enough force to break the phone inside, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was so pissed! Feyre went straight over to her little kitchenette and took out a beer from the fridge, before striding over to her bed and throwing herself onto the cushions. _Damn you Alis_ , she thought, _damn you and that fucking app!_

When she had downloaded Tinder during their girls’ night a few weeks ago, they had had a lot of fun setting up her profile and sorting through the available options. They spent the evening giggling at random guys’ self-descriptions and pictures that obviously meant to impress, but were just to ridiculous to pass uncommented. They even came up with categories for the men, like the _I’m taking a selfie but not taking a selfie_ -guy, or the _I just happen to have a camera around whenever I’m half naked_ -guy. Feyre spotted a few that looked rather nice, when Alis suddenly spurted her Chardonnay all over Feyre, because her ex’s profile had come up indeed.

“I told you he’s on Tinder”, she hissed, frantically trying to dry off Feyre, who was frowning at the wine stains on her favorite blouse. “Oh well, at least we’re not having red wine tonight”.

Alis had shrugged, thrown the towel behind her and grabbed the phone to read her ex’s profile. They had soon started giggling again, looking through his photos and comparing the way he presented himself on Tinder to the man they knew. It was downright hysterical. So hysterical, in fact, that by the end of the night Alis had downloaded the app for herself, no longer caring about her ex, and Feyre, despite her earlier declaration, hadn’t erased the app from her phone after she went home.

And then some time two weeks ago, when she had been bored out of her mind watching TV all by herself in her apartment, she had opened the app and started swiping. Remembering the categories she and Alis had established, she avoided profiles with too many selfies, naked torsos and fancy cars and frankly anyone too beautiful. _Never trust a beautiful man,_ Feyre had learned that the hard way.

An hour later she had matched with 3 relatively nice, normal looking guys and started chatting. A week later, she kept sending messages back and forth with this one guy. He was nice, the conversation between them flowing easily and with innocent banter. He asked about her life and likes and she did the same. Over the span of last week, Feyre had slowly found herself glancing at her phone more often, waiting for replies and having her heart beat a tiny bit faster, when she heard the app’s notification sound. She had to admit, it was nice to have someone write her, because he was clearly interested in…. well, HER. And she knew he was, because else he wouldn’t keep writing her. On a dating app. They had soon established their mutual likes and dislikes: reading a good book while sprawling on a couch, enjoying good food and, Feyre had discovered excitedly, preferring little, cozy bars over crowded clubs. So it hadn’t come as a surprise that, after two weeks of constant writing, he had asked her for a date in a little bar he knew where they apparently served some mean Gin Tonic. She had immediately said yes.

Feyre took a swig of her beer and made a sound of disgust when she thought back to how excited she’d been just earlier today. _You’re a gods-dammed fool for getting all riled up for someone you’ve never met in person,_ she berated herself.

She had taken extra time to coax her hair in soft, waving curls, trying to make it look natural instead of the hour it had taken. She had also kept her make-up minimal, just a bit khol around the upper eyelid to make her lashes appear denser and some mascara to make her fair lashes visible. She hadn’t bothered with rogue or lipstick. _It’s not a date, it’s just two people meeting for a drink_ , she had tried to tell herself, but, nonetheless, had been more excited than she had cared to admit. That had been why she had opted for heels instead of warmer shoes that would have been the more sensible choice for the cold autumn weather they were having and a pair of tight jeans that worked wonders for her backside. Looking into the mirror before she had left, even she had had to admit she looked good! She was by no means the most beautiful or sexy person there was, but she had liked what she saw. The weight she had lost due to the shit she had went through with Tamlin was finally back and she felt comfortable with her body again. The simple jeans and sweater combination she had chosen made the best of her curves without showing them off too much. The cleavage had been modest and sweater’s petrol color had set off her golden-brown her nicely and given her blue-grey eyes a slightly greenish tint. Feyre had grinned at herself in the mirror and felt beautiful and confident. With a wink to herself, she had set out to meet the guy she only knew by his pictures and messages.

_To call the date a disaster would be an understatement_ , Feyre thought bitterly, as she took another long swig.

He had been nothing like his pictures. It must have been old pictures, or taken at an angle that made him look thinner that he actually was, because he had been at least 10 kilos heavier than what he had looked like on his profile. And he was shorter than her, what, considering that she was only 165cm, was astonishing. With her heels on, she had been towering over him.

_Well, don’t judge a book by its cover_ , Feyre had thought, schooling her face into polite neutrality. _So what if he’s a bit short and heavier, it’s his character that counts._

Only he was not only nothing like his pictures, but also nothing like his messages, or more like how Feyre had perceived his messages. The moment they sat down and started talking, he had tried very hard to impress her with stories about his work and his life. He had bragged enough for Feyre to guess that he must had held some sort of complex, probably the height difference.

_The heels were definitely a mistake_ , she had thought, after he had straightened his spine and puffed out his chest in an attempt to look bigger for the third time in 5 minutes. The Gin Tonic had been taking too damn long to arrive and by the time it did, Feyre hadn’t been able to guzzle it down fast enough.

When after half an hour bragging and impressing he had noticed that Feyre, in fact, had been left utterly unimpressed, he had started down-talking her, trying to make her feel small and bad about herself, ‘putting her into place’. Feyre had had very much wanted to throttle him by that point. But the bar had been very cozy and the Gin Tonic indeed delicious and maybe she hadn’t been the only one tonight whose expectations didn’t match reality, so she had decided to have another drink and keep the date going. So she had scanned the drink menu and, when she had seen that she could choose between different Gin and tonic waters to create her own combination, had chosen a slightly more expensive drink than what they had been drinking.

She had been meaning to pay for her own drinks anyway, as getting treated didn’t sit well with her anymore. Too long she had been financially dependent on her ex and he had used that as a means to control her, guilt tripping her in every disagreement or fight they had.

So with the date not going the way she had intended, she had decided she might very well make the best of the evening. Also, she had had her eyes on this particular brand of Gin for a while now, but had never found a bar that served it. And to order a whole bottle of expensive Gin on Amazon or wherever just to try it seemed ridiculous, not to mention the cost. But tonight, especially tonight, she would splurge on a fancy drink, especially when the date had been a disappointment that far. When the waitress had come around, Feyre had ordered her individual combination. Her date’s eyebrows had risen higher than the moon and he had quickly glanced at the drink menu to prize together the cost of her order. “Someone’s got money to throw around, it seems”, he had said in a condescending tone.

And this was where Feyre had drawn the line. Thinking back now, she still could feel the anger rising inside of her, bubbling and churning in her gut. She was and had always been working hard, not only to support herself but also her family. It is not that she had a lot of money, but what money she had she had earned herself, working long nights in bars before and after classes, or now as student assistant at the university, trying her best to balance work and her studies and not letting her grades slip. So she deserved to treat herself whenever the fuck she wanted to, especially on her own money. And she was sick and tired of supercilious douchebags that thought they got a say in what she was doing with her money, or with her choices in life just because they felt threatened that a woman could hold herself on her own and didn’t _need_ them for that.

Needless to say, the date had turned sour after hat if it hadn’t had already. Being stubborn as she was, Feyre refused to leave the bar before she hadn’t had her drink and she refused even more not to enjoy her fancy Gin Tonic, so she had taken her sweet time savoring the drink. But she had stop making an effort at being pleasant with the douche. Hence, whenever he had attempted to continue his bragging or make some degrading comment, he had received a vicious tongue-lashing on her part, because she hadn’t bothered dumbing down for him anymore, because that was what she had been doing the moment they started talking. She had made clear that she was not some giggling air-headed college freshman, but a grown-ass woman of 26 with brains, a bachelor’s degree to her name and another on the way. If he was intimidated by that, he could fuck off.

By the time Feyre had finally finished her drink, both were irritable and wanted nothing more than to get away from each other. They had paid, Feyre tipping the waitress rather handsomely, smirking at the douche while doing so, and went their separate ways without bothering to even attempt set another date.

And now she was sitting on her couch, still pissed with no end to her wrath in sight, the beer not taking off the edge as she’d hoped, but spurring it on as her inhibitions were slowly being stripped away by the alcohol. She was so angry. Angry at Alis, for making her download this fucking app, angry at the self-entitled asshole that had ruined her night and betrayed her expectations. And most of all she was angry at herself for expecting anything from a dating app when she should have known better. What was the difference in meeting someone online or in real life, when in the end one preferred to cling to their delusions, the image one makes up about a person rather than look at the person in front of them?

_You’re doing it again,_ Feyre told herself. _It’s always the same pattern._

With Tamlin, she had done exactly that. Ignored all her instincts, shoved down her doubts, explained away his behavior to herself, to others. Because she needed him to be what she imagined him to be, constantly refusing so see him for who he was. And where reality and imagination didn’t fit, she would gloss over, deflect, deny and ignore, so she could cling to the one belief she held onto: that if only he would _change_ , he would be her ideal man. And if her love for him was just strong enough, she could make him change. _Utter bullshit._ There was no way she could have willed him into changing, Feyre knew that know. She had been forced to learn that.

Tamlin had isolated her from her friends, not wanting her to spend any time with anyone but him, but she had also distanced herself from them. Because she couldn’t stand when they pointed out that she was being unhappy, that Tamlin was a bad boyfriend, that they didn’t work and she was better off without him. Feyre hadn’t wanted to hear that, so she stopped hanging around them. The only one she couldn’t ignore was Alis, who knew better that to tell her to her face what she thought of Tamlin, but whose actions spoke loud and clear enough for Feyre to finally see the light of day and get the hell out, before she made the mistake of her life by marrying him.

Tamlin had pushed for marriage after barely a few months of dating, but although Feyre had said yes - that saying no could have been an option hadn't occurred to her - but she had intended to continue with her studies and pursue a master’s degree. Therefore she had wanted to wait with getting married until after she had achieved all she could managed to achieve. They had had horrible fights about it. Fights that left Tamlin accusing her of not loving him and thrashing their living room or his study in his rage. Feyre still shuddered when she thought back to those times. Even now, she could see him standing amidst the china and upturned furniture, pacing and panting while shouting at her. _Why would she even need to stay in school, when she was going to marry him? Could he not provide for the both of them? Hadn’t she worked enough and deserved to have the nice home he was giving her? What else did she want? Why couldn’t she just be content? Did she even want to get married? Why was she doing this to him? Did she even love him?_

Although he had never hurt her physically, if only because Feyre usually knew when not to push him lest it enrage him further, the constant fighting and his temper had scared her enough that at some point she had given up on the idea of staying in school and given in on the idea of being a housewife. His housewife.

But she hadn’t budged on one thing: no wedding until after graduation, if only her undergraduate one. She had worked to damn hard to even get into college to leave without a degree. Tamlin had agreed to wait, which of course hadn’t meant that he couldn’t immediately spring a wedding planner on her, although the wedding wouldn’t have happened for another year or so. Ianthe, an old friend of Tamlin’s family, had annoyed the fuck out of Feyre, who frankly couldn’t be bothered with the details of her upcoming wedding, when she had had struggled with exams, her graduation paper and applications to graduate schools she had secretly sent out. _Maybe after they had been married, Tamlin’s protectiveness would ease up a bit and she could convince him to allow her to continue studying_ , or so she had thought then.

_As if a wedding would have magically solved everything,_ Feyre thought now sipping her beer, disgusted at how guileless and blind she had been.

Giving Ianthe free reign with everything had been what made Feyre end up standing in a bridal salon, staring at herself wearing the most horrendous wedding dress she could have thought of: a monstrosity of tulle and chiffon, the bodice fitted with a sweetheart neckline and inbuild corset to push her breast up impossibly high, and the skirts … The skirts were a sparkling tent, practically floating. She might have had dealt with it all if it hadn’t been for the puffy capped sleeves, so big she had almost been able to see them glinting from the periphery of her vision.

“You look beautiful,” Alis had said quietly. She had flown down to Springfield to help with the dress selection and to find a dress for her as well; she had been intended as Maid of Honor. Feyre had been fairly certain Alis’ thoughts on the dress were the same as her own, but she has wanted to believe her.

“Thank you,” she had managed with a weak smile.

“And you sound like you’re going to your funeral.” There had been no escaping the stark honesty in Alis’ eyes at that moment. She had always been the one mirror Feyre couldn’t avert her eyes from, the one friend she couldn’t – wouldn’t – risk alienating only because she spoke the truth Feyre refused to see. So she had broken down then and there, sinking to the ground, the tulle skirts of her ridiculous gown all around her and had cried her eyes out while Alis had gently stroked her hair and held her to her chest. And afterwards, she had helped Feyre out of the dress, led her home and held her hand during the talk Feyre hadn’t dared to have without someone to have her back and, as she could admit to herself now, without a witness present in case shit hit the fan and Tamlin hat gotten violent or locked her up in the house, as he had had done before.

Thinking back to all of it made Feyre sick in her stomach. That she had thought she needed Tamlin to allow her to make choices for her, to decide what to do with her life. That was so fucked up. There was no way she could have changed him if he didn’t want to change himself. And she had been wrong to love an image of the man rather than the man himself. There had always been signs that she had chosen to ignore, because it didn’t fit with how she pictured him to be, how romance and courtship had to be. Like his persistence in pursuing her, although she hadn’t been interested, his inability to accept a “no”, dismissing her opinion or wishes on more than one occasion, his temper, his mood-swings…

Frustrated, Feyre let out a deep sigh and gulped down the rest of her beer. In the end, she had only herself to blame for tonight. She had liked exchanging messages, it had given her the excuse to not actually have to meet the guy. The semi-anonymous messages instead of meeting vis-a-vis had been perfect for fantasizing about the person behind them, interpreting them as she liked and projecting her idea of the ideal mean onto the unknown man. It was not his fault that he didn’t met her image of him. She should have known better than to expect him to be someone he wasn’t. She could slap herself for her foolishness.

But admitting that didn’t help abide her temper, so grabbed her phone, opened Tinder and, out of spite, swiped to accept where she would normally have declined. Let’s see where that was getting her. She was swiping fast and furious, her thumb moving based on split-second decisions.

Only once did she pause to linger. The picture was bad, like beyond bad. It looked as if the guy had cut his face out of a group picture and enlarged it too much. The face was hard to make out – way to pixelated – but what had made Feyre stop was the broad smile that seemed rather nice – or well, whatever she could make out as smile given the quality of the picture. It intrigued her enough to look through his other pictures: he indeed had cut himself out of some group pictures and not always doing a good job. The only picture of just him was taken at what seemed to be him standing in the middle of a plain somewhere in the mountains, in full gear no less. Although, it wasn’t a ‘ _look, my life is so exciting’_ -picture, but rather a snapshot a friend would take during a quick break on a trekking tour. Feyre liked what it implied. She was an outdoorsy type herself. A quick glance at the profile description had her confirm her decision to accept: he claimed his height at 1,91cm. She swiped right and decided it was enough for one night.

Getting up slowly, she discarded her empty beer bottle into a wicker basket by the kitchenette, and then made to the bathroom to get ready for bed. She took of her make-up, washed her face and brushed her teeth. Hairbrush in hand, she crawled unto her bed and under the covers and picked up her phone to send a quick report about her date to Alis. While she was waiting for her friends reply, she brushed and braided her long hair for the night. Just when she was wondering whether she should cut it short for a change, her phone chimed. Expecting Alis’ reply, she unlocked the phone, only to find a Tinder notification: She had another match.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies,
> 
> thank you for the feedback! I'm overjoyed you liked the epilogue <3 <3 <3  
> I will try to upload on a weekly schedule, though please bear with me, when real life and responsibilities catch up at some point.  
> Chapters will range from 1500 to 3500 words, this was a fairly large one. Also, I will mix in some characters from Throne of Glass eventually, cause how could I not! 
> 
> Stay tuned for next week!
> 
> All characters belong to Sarah J. Maas.


	3. Chapter 3

Frowning at the notification about a new match, Feyre decided that she couldn’t be bothered. Not after tonight. Before she attempted doing this whole business again, she needed to have a good long talk with herself about what she actually wanted. Not from a man, but from life and herself. But right now, with her emotions still running a bit too high and the two Gin Tonics and a beer certainly not helping with calming them down, right now didn't seem the be the best time to reflect about her life, let alone flirt with a stranger. So she chose to shut down the app for now, set her phone to silent mode and go to sleep. Tomorrow was another day.

͠

“Oh, he did not!”

Alis looked equally outraged and amused, while Feyre recounted yesterday’s date experience.

“He sure did,” Feyre ground out and attacked her pasta. They were having lunch in their favorite café next to Velaris U and Alis wanted details on Feyre’s first Tinder date. As far a Feyre was concerned, it could very well be her last. She had just told Alis the part with the Gin Tonic.

“So what did you say?” Feyre shrugged.

“I told him that I thought we’d met to have Gin Tonic, so I’d rather have a real one.”

Alis chuckled and took a bite of her lasagna.

“I mean, why would you claim you like Gin Tonic and then bitch about someone actually ordering a Gin Tonic?” Feyre exhaled sharply trough her nose, impaling some penne on her fork.

“Maybe he felt threatened?” Feyre shoot Alis an incredulous look. Alis just gave her a crooked smile. “You realize that you know more stuff and have more general knowledge than the average person, do you?”

Feyre paused at that and blinked.

“Well, the way you describe him trying to impress you, I guess his ego took a blow when he realized you not only knew what you were talking about, but also ordered something expensive. How is he supposed to impress you, if you’re smarter and also don’t need him to pay your stuff? I bet you hurt his male pride.”

Feyre snorted and set down her fork. She wasn’t really hungry anymore anyways.

“That what’s so damn annoying. Why would he need to impress me? How am I supposed to know him if he puts up a front and play at being someone he’s not? I’m… I’m fed up with that.”

“But that’s how dating goes, isn’t it,” Alis countered, while Feyre took up her fork again and angrily stabbed at her pasta. “You want the other person to only ever see your good side. That’s why we bother with make-up and dressing up and all that stuff. And why guys think they have to hold the door open, or carry our bags.”

“I don’t think I want that anymore.” Alis looked up to meet Feyre’s gaze. After yesterday, she had spent all morning thinking about what she wanted. “I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not. And I don’t want a guy I’m dating pretending. You know, when I dressed up yesterday, well of course I wanted to look good for my date, but most of all I just felt really good doing it. Like, it felt good being me. And then that asshole tried to make me feel bad for it, tried to make me feel bad about myself, for who I am, for how I behave.”

Feyre swallowed and Alis covered her hand with hers and gave a gentle squeeze. She knew Feyre wasn’t only talking about yesterday’s date.

“I want a boyfriend,” Alis said, “that is okay with our dates happening around my boys. I don’t need dinner at a fancy restaurant, I’d rather he took all three of us to a diner or those indoor playgrounds.” Alis frowned. “No scratch that. I hate those places.” Feyre chuckled. “And I’d love for my boyfriend to take care of me for once.” Alis let out a deep sigh and this time it was Feyre who squeezed her hand, the humor gone. “I don’t mind taking care of the boys, but I’d be really nice to have someone wait at home with dinner ready, someone to lean on.” She gave a little smile. Feyre nodded her understanding.

“Me too. I want someone I can trust, someone I can lean on. But I also want someone who can give me the space I need. Someone who shares my humor, my view of the world. An equal. Someone who loves me for who I am.” Feyre shook her head. “And I should love him for who he is.” She smiled a little ruefully at Alis. “This is way too heavy talk for lunch.” Alis laughed and let go of Feyre’s hand to get back to her lasagna.

“Well, when I met my prince on Tinder, you’ll be the first to know, so when you meet yours, I expect a call.” Alis’ eyes glinted mischievously and Feyre gave a hearty laugh in return.

“Then you better prepare to wait for a long, long while.”

͠

Feyre snapped shut her laptop and groaned while she stretched her stiff neck. She’d been working until late in the library and then some more at home. She still needed to finish her essay for tomorrow’s class, but she was just too tired. Feyre glanced at her phone to check the time. 23:22pm. Time to go to sleep, she decided. Feyre knew that even if she tried finishing that essay now, nothing good would come of it with her brain was fuzzy as it was. She’d just have to wake up a tad earlier tomorrow to finish that essay before class.

After washing up and then nestling into bed, she picked up her phone to set her alarm to an earlier time, when she realized she had a new message on Tinder. _Right, I had a match yesterday_ , she remembered. Seems like he’d sent her a message. But Feyre was sleepy, so she opted to ignore it, for now. _Tomorrow,_ she thought as she drifted to sleep. _I’ll have a look tomorrow_.

͠

In fact, almost a week went by before she found the time to check her Tinder account. Her various part-time jobs had kept her occupied and keeping up with classes had been a drag. She clearly felt the difference between a bachelor’s and master’s program. They expected so much more than being present for class and sitting for finals at the end of the semester. Only a month in, she already felt like she was drowning in work. But it was Sunday and Feyre needed a reprieve from the tasks pressing down on her. She was currently on her usual Sunday shift at the university library. It was a nice enough job to have: it paid well and all she had to do was handling the occasional student that either borrowed or returned books and provide information about where to find certain things. And as most students rarely frequented the library on Sundays, it left her with enough spare time to work on her own homework or pursue her own research interests. But after an intense week at school, she was in no mood to cram more information into her head voluntarily. So when she remembered she forgot to check her new Tinder match, she decided that writing a random stranger might just be the kind of undemanding diversion she needed. Pushing back from the table, she stretched her arms and neck for a minute before grabbing her phone.

_What the hell!_ Because she hadn't bothered checking Tinder since after her catastrophic last date, she hadn't noticed that her furious swiping had resulted in not one, but several matches and an equal number of messages. Feyre was blown away. _What to do now?_ Ignoring them seemed rude. Feyre chewed her lip thinking.

_Well, replying wouldn't hurt,_ she decided and set to the task. Apparently, nobody got anything better to do on a Sunday afternoon than sit around with their nose in their phones, because Feyre didn’t even make it to the end of her inbox, before she was engaged in several threads of conversation at once. Some she ditched outright, because it became obvious that some of her matches were only interested in getting her naked. Fast. Two guys were relatively nice, although she wasn't sure about one of them. She tried not to be too judgmental, but the way he wrote about his job and car didn't sit well with her. Yet, writing back kept her occupied.

By the end of her shift an hour later, she was exhausted but infinitely entertained. She still hadn't managed to answer all messages in her inbox. _A girl could get used to this kind of attention,_ she thought while she packed her stuff, waved the security guys at the entrance goodbye and raised the collar of her coat against the November chill.

Feyre loved walking the short distance from the library to her tiny apartment. The distance was short enough that it only took 20 minutes if she walked briskly (and Feyre was always in a hurry), but far enough away to allow a change of scenery and make her feel she entered another part of the city that was not related to work and studying. The apartment was not the greatest there was, the kitchen could have been bigger and she’d love to have a couch, but it was hers and she didn't need to share with stranger. She'd never truly lived alone, first sharing a room with her sisters, then the dorms at uni, and later being bullied into moving in with Tamlin. He’d barged into her place and practically dragged her out by force, demanding she moved in with him. So she enjoyed every minute of it now, when she entered her silent apartment, made to undress and put the water kettle on for a cup of tea. While the water came to a boil, she put away her bag. For a moment, she debated picking up work where she’d left it in favor of flirting with random strangers via chat, but the prospect of snuggling under her blankets and enjoying a hot cup of her favorite tea won out.

5 minutes later she was nestled between her mountain of pillows, a mug of vanilla-scented Rooibos tea tightly clasped between her hands, aromatic tendrils of steam kissing her still chilly cheeks. Feyre let out a content sigh. Remote in hand, Feyre kept flipping through the channels while savoring her tea in tiny sips, breathing in the gentle vanilla aroma. _This is pure bliss._

As soon as one show or movie was interrupted by an ads segment, Feyre would change the channel. She wasn't one to sit still; patiently waiting for the movie to come back on was a strain for her. Actually, Feyre wasn't very fond of watching TV at all. Her mind was always reeling and working, her constant inner turmoil only visible by her hands twitching and fumbling. Not keeping either her mind or her hands occupied, didn't bode well with her. Usually while watching TV, she would either work away on her laptop, or read a book or keep her hands occupied by knitting or doodling. But Feyre hadn't been doodling for a long while.

_Or paint for that matter. Not since_ …

She pushed down that thought. Discarding her now empty mug on her bedside table, she settled deeper into the cushions and pulled the duvet up higher. _I really need to learn how to relax,_ she thought bitterly.

After continuing to flip through the channels for another 10 minutes or so, Feyre was so thoroughly bored, she had half a mind to dig out her textbook and, despite her earlier decision, continue with her work. But she'd deposited her bag by the door and her bed was just _so_ cozy…

She was saved from any attempt to resume her boredom-induced productivity when her phone chimed. Another message on Tinder. Right, she could just continue doing that!

Feyre palmed her phone and opened her inbox. Steven, the car-guy had messaged.

_I could take you on a ride if you want._

She scowled at that. What was the fun in letting herself be driven around by a guy, albeit in a fancy car.

_Where too?_

_Nowhere. Anywhere. Just driving._

Feyre imagined how that'd go. Sitting in a car with a stranger for hours, seemingly going nowhere. From what she had gathered in their conversation so far, they didn't hold much of the same interests, their talk had been nice, but not effortless. The idea of struggling to uphold a conversation for hours, while being locked in a car with an unknown male, yielding control over her movement and her ability to walk away...

Feyre’s stomach twisted in discomfort. She was fearing possible outcomes such a situation provided. She might be slightly paranoid, but after having been in a relationship where she'd literally been restricted in her movement and ability to make her own decisions, she has become ever so cautious.

_Sorry. Not my cup of tea._

And with that she closed the thread. She'd probably just botched the whole thing, but she didn't mind terribly. They didn't seem to fit anyways. It was okay to admit that. Yet, it had put a damper on her eagerness to chat for tonight. Feyre scrolled absentmindedly through her inbox. All messages where the typical _hi_ or _hey_ or _how are you_. She was in no hurry to engage in another thread like the one she'd just ended, so she didn't feel any inclination to reply. And then her thumb paused.

_There you are!_

Feyre stared. Well, that was certainly different. She was intrigued. Even more so, when she glimpsed at the little round bubble showing the profile picture. It was shitty-pictures guy. Feyre huffed a laugh and opened the thread. _This could be interesting_ , she thought as the read the whole message.

_There you are! I've been looking for you._

 


	4. Chapter 4

_There you are! I've been looking for you._

Feyre snorted. Had there ever been a worse pick up line? On a dating app, nonetheless?

 _Prick_ , she decided. Definitely and undeniably a huge prick. Yet she had to give him credit for resourcefulness. It had definitely caught her attention.

_Sorry to keep you waiting! Didn't see you in the crowd._

She grinned at the screen. Let's see how that arrogant prick dealt with that. She decided she needed another tea, so she got out from under the covers and trotted to the kitchenette, shivering at the chill that crept into her room from outside. Compared to where she was from, it was really cold this far up north. With a new cup of tea - this time a cinnamon and cocoa infused blend - she quickly settled into bed again and glanced at her phone. He had replied!

Anticipation making her stomach flutter as she opened the thread again.

_A crowd? Someone thinks mighty highly of herself. Then again, I cannot cast the first stone on that. Surely my charming self must have stood out from the mass of boring, brutish forgettables._

Oh, he was down to play. A strange sort of rush went through her veins as she read the sentences again and again. He had thrown her a challenge. Clamping her my lips shut to keep from smiling she typed.

 _Why shouldn’t I? You seem to have found me very attractive if you wrote me at all. And I must admit, you indeed stood out. If not by your cocky message, then by the fact that your pictures are shit_.

This time, he took a long time to reply, longer than would have been necessary for what he wrote:

_Touché_

_Which part? You finding me attractive or having shitty pictures._

_Both ;)_

Feyre let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She would have been disappointed if he couldn't take some heat from her. This was starting to be the most enjoyable conversation of the day. So what if he was an insufferable prick. A ping announced another message.

_So, darling, what do you usually do when you don't eat men for breakfast? Or should I say dinner?_

She chuckled.

_I'm a grad student_

_At Phrythian U?_

_Yeah_.

_What's your major, darling? Maybe I know you? Though I'm sure I wouldn't forget someone with a tongue a sharp as yours._

Feyre lips parted in surprise. Was he a student too? His profile stated his age at 28, so he was at least a year or two older than her. Not that that meant anything. She and Alis had always been older than the average student.  

_Art History. Loose the darling, prick._

_Such a wicked mouth. You wound me so, darling!_

Feyre didn't know whether she should be amused or exasperated. She would never admit it - not even to herself - but the whole darling business was kind of growing on her. A ping announced another message from him:

_Art History. Interesting I took a couple of lectures during my undergraduate._

This caught her interest. She didn’t often meet people who knew about her field of study.

_Did you now? What do you do now?_

_Currently having dinner._

Feyre rolled her eyes. Forget about him growing on her. He was annoying. And she let him know.

(-_- )

He was probably laughing at her from his side of the line.

_It's a really good dinner! Cooked it myself. Chicken curry with banana and raisins. Spicy and sweet is the best combination ;)_

She rolled her eyes again. Was that a backhanded compliment?

_Well, all my kitchen has to offer right now is half a pomegranate._

Feyre wasn't a great cook, but she could manage. Her kitchenette wasn't really well equipped though, so she usually didn't bother making use of it, but grabbed something on the way.

_Ah, a fellow sinner! So I take you're a pursuer of knowledge and truth?_

Feyre jolted in surprise. Did he just reference to the Fall of Man? The widespread assumption was that the fruit the snake had offered Eve had been an apple, but most art depicted it as a pomegranate. _He's intelligent. Or well educated._ Feyre wet her lips with a quick brush of her tongue. It had been aged since she'd held an intelligent conversation with a guy. Or anyone basically, except for Alis. Normally she felt like she needed to dumb down for other people, yet here he was throwing references around, using it to flirt with her. It kind or turned her on. Feyre bit down hard on her lip to keep herself from smiling as she tipped.

_I might be. Or I might be the snake - trying to seduce you to take a bite_

_What the fucking hell was she doing?_ Feyre stared at the unsent message, horrified. How had they come to this point so quickly? There was no way she would sent that, let alone to a stranger. But flirting with him was so easy. She narrowed her eyes at the message, erasing and typing anew.

_I might be. Or I might be the snake and try to enlighten man._

His reply was instant.

_Enlighten me then, darling! You, me and the fruit of sin. It’s a date! Coffee?_

She couldn't help herself any longer. She burst out laughing. _Arrogant insufferable prick!_ Asking her to a date and daring her to bring a fruit. If he was half as fun in person as he was writing, she might very well enjoy a date with him. And if he wasn't, at least she would know right away instead of investing time and energy like she had with the last guy.

_Sure. Any suggestion? I hang around uni most of the days._

_I'm at uni on Wednesday, how about then?_

_Wednesday is great. I'm on campus all day but I could take a break for an hour or so._

It was more than great actually. If the date would turn out as shitty as the last one, at least she had a sound reason to excuse herself after an hour.  

 _I have a seminar at 4, so how about 3 at Rita's? It's a little café right next to campus_.

She knew. It was her favorite place, where she met with Alis all the time.

_Yeah, I know it. 3 sounds doable._

That fast, they had agreed to meet. They kept at their bantering for a bit longer, but when it was nearing 11pm, Feyre was getting comfortably tired.

_I think I'll go to sleep soon. Early day tomorrow. Goodnight. C u on Wednesday._

_Good night, darling. Don't moan too loud, when you dream of me._

_Prick._

Snickering, Feyre locked her phone and reached over her bedside table to switch off her lights. Snuggling deeper into her pillows she was swiftly drifting to sleep, her mind relaxing and unwiring from the day. It was only then, in that place in between, where you are neither fully awake nor fully asleep, that a single thought shot through her brain before it got dragged down and drowned by sleep.

_What the fuck had just happened?_

☽✴☾

It Wednesday and she was 7 minutes late for her date. She had underestimated the time it took her to wrap up her work at the International Office, where she worked as a student assistant, and hurry over to Rita’s. While running, she had sent a quick message about being late. _Great_ , she thought, _already leaving a great impression._ Not that she tried to leave an impression.

But when she arrived, there was no one waiting in front of the doors. Feyre stopped dead. Had she been stood up? Or worse, did he think he had been stood up? She looked around. _There_! Sitting on the low concrete wall bordering a parking lot and flipping through his phone sat someone that might be him. His back was turned towards her, but the black locks were as good as any indicator. It was not like she knew what he looked like, his pictures being pixelated and all.

 _Here goes nothing_ , she thought nervously, taking a deep breath and made to circle around the wall and stand in front of him.

“Uhm, hi”, she said, “Rhysand, right?”

He glanced upward and his eyes widened as he took her in - in recognition, shock or surprise she didn’t know. He scrambled to his feet and straightened up.

 _Cauldron boil me,_ _1,91m might just be about right!_ was the first thought that came to Feyre’s mind.

He was tall and extremely handsome, with prominent cheekbones and full, sensual lips. He had a tan, golden complexion which contrasted nicely with his deep blue eyes. Under her scrutiny, a deep blush overcame him, his whole face turned red. Feyre couldn't help but smile. _He blushed! Because of her_! And then his face split into that broad, gorgeous smile she only had guessed at, given his shitty pictures. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. No, he was the most beautiful thing - man - she'd ever seen. Now it was her turn to blush.

“Yes,” he purred. “I’m Rhysand. But please call me Rhys. That’s what my friends call me. And I take your Fairy.” She nodded and offered her hand, instantly cringing at her own awkwardness. _A handshake, really?_ But he took her hand without hesitation.

“It’s Feyre actually,” she supplied, pronouncing it Fey-RUH. She had given an alias name on Tinder, not wanting guys to google her and start showing up at her work or at home. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened.

“1 minute into this date and you're already trusting me with your real name, darling? I feel this is going exceptionally well!” His smile turned into a smirk and Feyre rolled her eyes.

“Wow, attitude really doesn't show in writing,” she said, but smirked in return. His eyes, a blue so deep they had a purplish hue, gleamed with the challenge. But instead of retorting, he motioned towards the café.

“Shall we?” She nodded and they set off.

☽✴☾

It was by far the best date she had ever had. He had paid for her coffee before she had even managed to dig out her money from her purse and when she protested, he had just shrugged and told her, she was welcome to pay his the next time. She noted with appreciation that he had ordered espresso for himself, just adding a hint of sugar to take of the bitter edge. She liked people who drank their coffee like her - unadulterated and straight.

She kept noting other things appreciatively: his taste in music, his interests, his lifestyle choices. _Him_.

 _Cauldron boil her_ , he was not only really nice to look at, but he was also really smart. He was objectively handsome, but for her he looked most attractive when he talked about his favorite book, his eyes sparkling while he gave her a full rundown of the plot and a detailed character analysis, or when he told her about his studies. He matched her humor and wit effortlessly and he had extensive general knowledge, which made it easy for them to find topics to talk about. But what she liked most of all was that he was actually listening when she talked and answered with his honest opinion. He didn’t try to butter up or match his opinion to hers – not that they found much to disagree on – but he conversed with her like he would with a friend, someone he took seriously, not someone he tried woo into having sex. It was refreshing. For their whole date, Feyre couldn't take her eyes of him. She'd never felt that attracted to someone both physically and intellectually in such a short amount of time.

When she glanced at her watch an hour later, she was actually disappointed that time had flown by so quickly. And she thought she saw the same disappointment in his face, as they made their way outside. Apparently they had had the same thought about ensuring they wouldn't need to spend time with an awful date, because he had purposely set the date just before an appointment he couldn't miss.

“So,” he began, as they were nearing his car. “I really had a great time.”

“Yeah, me too,” she confessed.

He shot her a quick glance from the corner of his eyes.

“So do you… I mean, wanna meet again?”

Feyre looked up to meet his gaze. He was fiddling with his keys. _He’s nervous_ , she realized. So she gave him a soft smile.

“I'd love that,” she said quietly.

He let out a breath she hadn't realized he was holding, looking incredibly relieved and returned her smile.

“Great. I'll text you,” he promised and started towards his car. But before he could turn away, Feyre pulled him into a quick hug to say goodbye. She broke away before he had the chance to hug her back though and smiled up to him.

“See you later,” she breathed and took off without looking back. She could have sworn, he had been blushing again. Feyre was just back at the office, waiting for her computer to boot, when she received a message from him.

_Thank you again for the lovely date. I'm very glad I met you, Feyre._

This evening when she went to bed, her face hurt, because for the whole time after their date, she hadn't been able to stop smiling at her computer screen.

☽✴☾

Feyre didn't expect Rhysand to be writing her for some time after Wednesday, especially not trying to set up their next date on Friday, just two days after their initial meeting. Not that she minded terribly. She told Alis as much.

“Guess he's just really into you. What did you do to the poor guy?”

Alis laughed, as she watched Feyre distribute pamphlets on tables. The International Office held an event tonight and Feyre was helping out. Alis had come with her boys to participate in the event and the little ones were currently ‘helping” Auntie Fey: they were playing tag, the pamphlets they were supposed to put on the tables strewn all over the place. So Feyre was in the process of picking up the discarded papers and arranging them of the tables, while Alis followed closely behind and tried to squeeze as many details as possible from her. The excuse that she was working didn’t work, as Feyre’s boss, Clotho, had joined the tag game, chasing the squealing boys from the hall into the foyer. Feyre narrowed her eyes at them.

“Nothing,“ she shrugged and kept moving.

“Don’t you nothing me,” Alis demanded. “Especially when you make that face reading his messages!”

“What face?” Feyre blinked innocently. Alis just started back at her, face blank. Feyre held her stare for a few heartbeats, before a chuckle escaped her. Alis kept staring, silently demanding information.

“Really, I don’t know,” Feyre said with a sigh. “We just talked about random stuff. Books, hobbies, the usual.”

In fact, they hadn’t even touched, except for that handshake in the beginning and the hug in the end. There had been some banter strewn into their talk - they shared the same wicked humor - but no sleazy comments or even the attempt to get closer to than sitting at the same table. Not that Feyre hadn’t thought about how much she would like to get closer and touch him. Or had wondered, how his hair might feel when she ran her fingers through, whether his lips felt as soft as they looked, how the slight stubble on his face would feel when he kissed down her spine, scraping against her skin...

But she had tried her best to shove those thoughts down and instead focus on the person in front of her, not his face. As did he, even though she had caught him glancing at her cleavage a few times, courtesy of the low-cut tee shirt she had donned that morning not considering how much of her assets it showed. But he had tried his best to avoid staring and keep his eyes away from the temptation she had unintentionally thrown his way and focus on her face, her eyes. Tried and failed. Feyre felt a blush overcoming her face.

“He was really just trying getting to know me. As a person. We talked about ourselves, what we do and what we like and stuff. No impressing, no boasting, just talk.” She looked at Alis, shrugging. “That’s all.”

Alis shook her head. “So tell me about him then. What does he do?”

“Well, we basically like the same things, so there’s that. We didn’t really have time for in-depth conversations.” _Lie, lie, lie._ Somehow she was reluctant to share Rhys, even if it was just information about him.  Alis rolled her eyes.

“Great, another you then. Got a picture?”

“Nope.” Feyre avoided meeting her eyes.

“Are you telling me you met with a stranger that doesn't even have pictures on Tinder?” Alis exclaimed.

“Of course not! Just his pictures are shit. He doesn't look like them, so don't bother.”

Alis scowled at her, but right when she was about to voice another demand, Feyre’s phone chimed. She quickly unlocked it and her face grew soft instantly. A message from Rhys.

“See, that is exactly the face I was talking about!” Alis’ scowl grew deeper. “But by all means, don’t bother telling me. I'm fine. I don't need to know. Why care about you meeting potential douchebags and stalkers and endangering yourself, meeting strangers just after downloading some weird app…”

“Alis! You told me to download it and you've been meeting plenty of strangers yourself, if I recall correctly,” Feyre laughed at her friend. She was met with a fiery stare.

“Oh, hush. Anyways,” she said, pointing a finger at Feyre’s face, almost taking her eye out. “I want to hear from you after that date tomorrow. Scratch that, if I don't hear from your like every 10 minutes, I'm coming after you, wherever you are!”

“Yes mom,” Feyre deadpanned. Alis nodded and turned to walk away and look for her nephews.

“I love you Alis,” Feyre called after her. Alis glanced back, her face softer, but still slightly scowling.

“Tell me how it was. Call me, when you're in trouble or need an excuse to get out.

Feyre smiled at her softly. “Will do.”

With that, Alis seemed mollified, but she kept mumbling to herself as she walked away, in hot pursuit of her little troublemakers. Feyre knew that she was worried. Well who wouldn't. Her choice in man had never been good, _Cauldron,_ she’d almost married a man whose only redeeming feature was not hitting her when he could have. But still, she wasn't ready to share Rhys with anyone. Feyre turned to her phone and pulled up the message.

Rhys: _So for tomorrow's date, how about you come over to my place and I cook something?_

Feyre snorted in disbelief. Second date and he was already trying to get her to come over. Maybe she should have told Alis about him? Either he tried to make up for the lack of physicality on their first date, or he really had no clue what going to a guy’s place implied.

Feyre: _don't take this the wrong way, but I don't know yet whether you're a psycho killer or not. I'd rather go somewhere I'm not completely at your mercy._

With any other guy, she might have sugarcoated her words or tried to be less blunt, but with Rhys she felt she needn't check her words so she wouldn’t hurt his feelings. _Or avoid making him angry,_ a bitter voice in the back of her mind said.

Rhys: …

Rhys: _wow. Never actually considered it could be taken that way. Creepy. Not my place then._

_Rhys: how about a walk?_

_Feyre: a walk sounds nice. I'm still kinda here._

_Rhys: walk it is then! Any preference?_

_Feyre: the forest?_

There was a nice stretch of wood along the river running through Velaris. The part closest to the city was more like a park, housing the city's zoo and also some recreational areas, a park restaurant and soccer fields. The forest wasn't really wide, but it stretched for several miles and fanned out into the mountains behind the city. It was beautiful. And always crowded by mothers pushing strollers, the occasional jogger, people riding their bikes or just people doing whatever. Although Rhys didn't look like a psycho killer, she wasn’t willing to take any chances. Not anymore.

Rhys: _the forest is fine by me. 11am?_

Rhys _: just to make sure: you're not planning to murder and bury me in the woods, are you?_

Feyre: _still debating ;)_

Feyre _: can we make it 12? I'll be working late today and probably hang out with my colleagues after, so I might need to sleep in a bit tomorrow._

Rhys _: someone needs her beauty sleep :p_

Feyre _: not all of us are so old they need to sleep to go sleep 10 and rise again at 5._

Rhys _: Darling, you wound me so! Kay, this old man will sacrifice his afternoon nap for you. See you at 12!_

Feyre chuckled and made quick work of hashing out the details for where they were meeting before saying goodbye. She put her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and went to work, giddy with excitement for tomorrow. It was only later that night, when she had stumbled into her apartment after having a few rounds after work with her colleagues and falling onto her bed exhausted, that she noticed another message from Rhys.

Rhys: _you certainly can afford to miss out on that beauty sleep._

It took Feyre a while to calm down enough to sleep. Staring at the message and grinning like an idiot didn't help.

☽✴☾

Feyre was glad she had had the foresight to push the date to 12, because when she woke at 11, she was still tired and sporting a slight hangover. Glancing at her phone, she cursed and sprinted into the shower. Luckily, she only needed 10 minutes to the tram stop they would meet at, but she was still left with less time than she would have liked. Feyre washed and dried her hair in record time and put on some light make-up. No need to go full out for a simple walk. Almost out of the door, she decided to grab her gloves and a beanie. Just to make sure - it _was_ November after all and she didn’t know how long they would be outside.

On her way to their meeting place, she dropped by her usual bakery to get coffee and a bagel on the go. Devouring her bagel as she walked, the coffee grasped in her other hand, Feyre’s thoughts turned to Rhys and their upcoming date. Although she was excited for it,, she could feel doubts creeping in. _Weren’t they moving along too fast?_ They’d only met on Wednesday. Two dates in one week so close to one another - was that normal? Feyre wasn’t very experienced in the whole dating business, so she didn’t really know the unwritten rules of dating. The closer she got to their meeting point, the more nervous she got. Did she even like him? They had only met in person once and not even for a full hour… Maybe she was making stuff up in her head again, imagining liking him, because he had appeared to be so perfect.

 _What are you doing?_ She mentally slapped herself. _Calm the fuck down_. She was letting her insecurities get the better of her. Still, she was half inclined to turn around and cancel last minute, when she spotted Rhys already waiting for her from a distance. There was still 10 minutes to their meeting time and considering how his hands were buried in his pockets and how he kept shifting on his feet, he must have been there for a long while. The thought that he might have come early, because he was just as nervous as her, made her stomach flutter and her. She took a deep breath and walked a bit faster.

As if he had felt her coming, Rhysand’s head snapped up. Really, it was unnerving to be watched walking towards him. Feyre didn’t know what to do with her hands, her feet. _Was she walking funny?_ She became aware that her empty hand was flapping uselessly around, so she put it in the pocket of her coat, the other gripping her coffee tighter. _Where should she look?_ Rhys’ own eyes never left her face, a small smirk playing on his lips as he watched her approach. She felt awkward and exposed, his gaze like a spotlight on her.

By the time she had reached him, Feyre was an utter nervous wreck. But then that damn smirk turned into a full smile and all thoughts left her head and her body moved on its own. She gave him a one-armed hug, angling the other arm away as not to spill her coffee on him. Today Rhysand was prepared for the hug and returned it, squeezing her gently and putting his cheek against hers.

“Hello, Feyre darling” he purred close to her ear.

“Hi”, she breathed. Her heart beat a little bit faster at their proximity. He smelt nice, like citrus and something else, something fresh and crisp. It reminded her of the sea.

They pulled away and Feyre was almost disappointed at the loss of contact. Rhys took a step back and shoved his hands back into the pockets of his pants. The tip of his nose and his ears were pink and the cheek that had been pressed to hers a moment ago had been stone-cold. He looked like he was freezing and utterly adorable doing so. Feyre could help but smile at him.

“And where is my coffee?” he asked in mock hurt, glancing the cup she was holding. Feyre rolled her eyes.

“First of all, you had espresso last time and there is no way I could have brought you one that was still hot in this weather. Second, I only got out of bed, so this is my first coffee of the day. I might be able to get away with skipping on my beauty sleep, but not with not having coffee. But, since I technically owe you from Wednesday, I might buy you one later.”

Rhys accepted the offer with a gracious nod of his head.

“Ah, a woman of her word. I will take you up on that offer then, darling.”

His eyes twinkled with mischief, so Feyre gave him another eyeroll and a little shove. He chuckled in return. Being with him was so _easy._ She couldn’t believe she had been so nervous just a minute ago.

“So, shall we go?” Feyre asked, draining the last of her coffee and discarding the cup in a nearby bin.

“We need to wait for the tram,” Rhys answered. Feyre blinked up at him in surprise.

“But the forest is just around the corner from here,” she said, motioning towards the woods in the near distance.

“Ah, yes. But if we take the tram for just two stations from here, we can enter the forest behind the sports complex and then walk back towards the city. If we enter here, we would need to turn at one point and walk the same way back.”

Feyre considered it for a minute. He was right. If they started here, they would need to walk the same way back again.

“And maybe later, if we are still up to it, we can continue into the city have that coffee?” Rhys added, looking at her expectant.

Feyre considered for a heartbeat longer and then held her hand out.

“It’s a bargain.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

They hopped on the next tram and when they got out two stations later, Feyre let Rhysand lead the way. As it had been on Wednesday, conversation flowed between them with ease while they entered the forest that was dyed in all possible shades of yellows and reds. Feyre let her gaze sweep over the beautiful fall colors and felt herself relax.

“So tell me, Rhysand, why a double major in economics and history?”  He had told her on Wednesday that he was doing a PhD in economics, but had majored in both subjects during his undergraduate and graduate years. “The combination is somewhat unusual.”

Rhysand glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, while she kept hers on the foliage. Before, she would have tried to analyze and pick apart the palette of colors fall provided and try to recreate them, catching the moment and feeling in a painting, but she hadn’t painted in a long while. Painting and the joy that went with it had somehow been taken away from her, too.

“Rhysand, really? What have I done to you?” he asked in mock hurt.  Feyre turned to look at him and simply raised an eyebrow. He chuckled.

“I find that one can learn a great deal about economics, when looking at history. All mistakes that we possibly can make, have been made already. Yet, we refuse to acknowledge and learn from them. By looking at the past, by looking at how people in power acted in certain circumstances, especially when presented with times of economic pressure, you start seeing patterns. Which decisions were bad ones, which strategies were successful. Though we usually tend to glorify the past, so it makes it harder to guess at the underlying motives of people’s actions.”

Feyre considered that for a moment. 

“You mean like, for example, when in the middle ages the expulsion of jews by Spain’s catholic kings was most likely motivated by financial reasons rather than religious ones? Because after the ongoing wars and the reconquest of the Iberian peninsula, they needed a new source of income, but most people assume the motivation was based on their ardent catholic faith?”

Rhysand’s head whipped to her, his lips parted in surprise.

“Exactly! How come you know of that?” he breathed, his eyes wide with wonder and excitement. Feyre looked away quickly. The way he looked at her with those stunning violet eyes made her feel almost uncomfortably self-conscious.

“A friend of mine is a linguist, apparently there is a variety of Spanish that is still in used by the descendents of those jews, who have been expelled during the middle ages. She told me they were only allowed to take what they could carry and weren’t granted enough time to wind up their affairs. What they left was seized by the crown. Doesn’t take a genius to guess, that’s what they had been after in the first place.” 

Rhysand was still staring at her and Feyre felt the heat rise to her cheeks under his gaze. 

“My memory works really well, so when I find something interesting, it just latches on…” she rambled on nervously.   
“I knew you were smart, but I didn’t realize just how smart you were.” Rhys shook his head as if to shake away his surprise and then smiled softly at her. “You are exquisite.”

This time, Feyre couldn’t hide her blush. She turned bright red and burrowed her face deeper into her scarf to hide it. 

“You aren’t dumb either. That pomegranate-reference really surprised me,” she mumbled into the warm wool covering her face.

“Ah, that!” He let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck and finally looking away from her. Feyre glanced at him from under her lashes. His cheeks sported a faint blush, whether from the cold or embarrassment she couldn’t tell.

“That really threw me off. Why would the only thing in your kitchen be a pomegranate? I mean I get having an apple, or a banana. But a pomegranate?” He laughed and the sound made her chest grow warm and fuzzy. _Cauldron_ , she couldn't remember the last time something simple as a smile or a laugh had that effect on her. 

“I just really wanted to have pomegranate.” Feyre laughed too. “I saw it at the supermarket and was suddenly craving it, so I grabbed it. And well, it not hard being the only thing in my kitchen.” 

Rhysand cocked his head to the side in a silent question.

“My kitchen is really small, well, it’s a kitchenette really. My fridge is tiny, too. There’s not much space, so I mostly keep drinks and fruit in there”, Feyre explained. “What about your place? You mentioned cooking some fancy curry the other day.”

“My fridge is rather big, thank you for asking,” Rhys said with a wink and a smirk.  Feyre rolled her eyes at him in return and fought to contain her smile. “I need to keep it well stocked, because my cousin comes over often and she is always rummaging my fridge for food. Cauldron save me if there is no food in the house for her to devour.” 

Feyre couldn’t help but laugh as she pictured the scene of a female Rhysand lookalike pillaging a fridge.

“So you live with your cousin?” she inquired.

“No, and thank the Mother for that. Though one might think so, as often as she barges into my place.” Rhysand let out an exasperated sigh, but she could tell it wasn’t heartfelt. He must love his cousin very much. It made her strangely envious of the unknown woman.

“So is your kitchen as big as your fridge?” she teased.

“Bigger”, he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

_ Oh, you just wait _ , Feyre thought. She gave him a saccharine smile in return. 

“If you ever want to have your way with me, all you need to do is show me a picture of your kitchen.” 

He went still, completely taken by surprise, but then Rhysand threw his head back and burst out laughing. Feyre joined in, chuckling softly. 

“Darling, I will show you as many pictures of my kitchen as you want," he said, still laughing. "Any other ways to win your heart?” 

“I have a fable for coats”, she admitted. “Though leather is really nice, too,” she said, batting her eyelashes coyly while eyeing the black leather jacket he was wearing. At that, Rhysand leaned in a bit closer to her, a wicked gleam in his eyes and his gaze found hers.

“Next time, Feyre, I’m wearing a coat,” he purred, his eyes boring into hers.

_ Feyre _ . It was the first time he had called her by her name and her name only. And the way he pronounced it… She averted her eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, trying to hide her heated cheeks behind the motion.

“So there will be a next time?” she asked. He had an uncanny way of establishing upcoming dates. Not that she minded.

“Only if you want.” 

Glancing back to him, she found him still looking at her, his face openly searching hers, attempting to gauge whether she would be interested in another date. Whether she was interested in him. She was certainly not used to guys asking her opinion. Tamlin had never actually asked her whether she wanted to go on a date, he just assumed she would. It was a nice change.

“I would love to.” 

The words were out before she had the chance to stop them. He nodded, a shy smile on his lips. It was confounding. One minute, they were flirting and bantering and he managed to turn her into a nervous, blushing mess with the things he said, the next he was acting all shy because of the simplest things. She was confused. Yet, she couldn’t deny that there was something pulling her to him. She was finding herself more and more attracted to him.  Rhysand hummed in response and they resumed walking, silence settling over them for once. Feyre didn’t know how to resume their talk and it seemed neither did he. So they walked for a minute in companionable silence, content with just that.

It was only then that she noticed how unusually quiet it was. Feyre had been so immersed in their conversation and, if she was being honest, in  _ him _ , that she hadn’t kept an eye on where Rhysand had been leading her. With a start, she realized that they had wandered really deep into the forest - in the middle of nowhere, with no one around. The forest, that usually crawled with people, was eerily deserted. And she was alone with a stranger. A cute and handsome stranger, but also a grown male that was several heads taller than her and was probably strong enough to wrestle her to the ground with both his arms bound behind his back. 

Feyre stopped dead and Rhysand paused when he noticed she had stopped walking.

“Feyre?” 

His voice held a hint of concern, his brow furrowing as he watched her in confusion.  Feyre’s breath hitched. How could she have been so stupid. She knew better than to bring herself into such a compromising situation.  _ If he tried anything, there was no way she could escape. _ Her heart started beating frantically against her ribcage. Rhysand took a step towards her.

“Feyre, are you alright? What’s the matter?” he asked, clearly concerned now.

She assessed him while willing herself to breath.  _ In-out, in-out. _ There was genuine worry now on his face, his eyes scanning the perimeter for any threat she might have perceived, not understanding that it was him that posed the threat to her. Feyre willed herself to relax further.  _ Breath, just breath, Feyre! _ She exhaled a shaky breath. _ He is not going to do anything,  _ she tried telling herself. Still, she felt incredibly uneasy around him all of a sudden.

“I’m sorry. It might sound a bit paranoid, but I hadn’t realized we were so deep in the woods.” She tried to gloss over the situation by laughing it away, but it came out hollow. Realization lit up Rhysand’s eyes.

“You’re afraid to be alone with me. That’s why you didn’t want to come to my apartment,” he gasped. Feyre nodded hesitantly. 

“I guess it wasn’t smart to refuse coming to your place, only to choose a spot that is equally void of people”, she deadpanned. He ran a hand through his hair. 

“How was that, you don’t know whether I’m a psycho killer or not?” he jested, trying to make light of the situation, but his smile faltered at the look on her face.  “Shit Feyre, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would scare you so much coming here...” 

“No, no.  _ I _ was proposed to coming here. I just didn’t realize...”

“That there wouldn’t be other people around on a Friday noon in this part of the forest?” 

She nodded again. Rhysand shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped back, putting some physical distance between them. It almost broke her heart to see how he tried to put her at ease.  _ Stupid! She was so incredible stupid. _ How could she think he would do anything to her?

“That’s why you wanted to walk closer to the city. Cause that part of the forest is more busy, right?” He smiled at her weakly. “I’m sorry for making you come out here.”

“No, Rhys, please! Don’t apologize! I just… I just panicked a bit. I don’t think you would harm me. It’s just...” She bit her lip and ran a hand over her face. Was there any way of explaining without mentioning Tamlin?

“Look, it is okay.” He still didn’t make any move to come closer or touch her. Instead he motioned towards the crossroads that was close by. 

“I wanted to go even deeper, so we can take a longer walk, but if we go left here, we will be close to the city in no time. Or we can just go back. If you want to go on alone, that’s fine too. Your choice.” 

“No!” Feyre blurted out, almost desperate. She didn’t want to ruin their date because of her stupid panic attack.“No, it’s fine. Don’t go, please. Let’s continue.” 

Rhysand let out a great sigh, looking so relieved, it was almost comical. 

“Thank god. I was almost convinced you were about to dump my sorry ass. Would have set a new record.” He winked at her and Feyre was insanely relieved he tried to cover up the awkward situation with his attempt at humor.

“As if you have ever been in danger of being dumped. Not with that face.” 

She gladly jumped at the opportunity for their earlier banter to resume and kit the mood.

“Are you calling be pretty, darling? But it's true, I've never been dumped before, hence, it would have set a new record.” 

He smirked at her and seeing him smile at her made Feyre feel even worse for her bout of panic. He deserved an explanation.

“I am sorry. About just now...”

“There is no need to apologize”, he quickly intercepted.

Feyre shook her head. “I would like to explain why I am so… cautious around people. Men.” She picked at a loose thread on her scarf and gathered her courage. And then she told him about the darkest time in her life.

☽✴☾

“I hadn’t had the easiest childhood. We used to be really wealthy, but my mother died of a sickness when I was eight, and my father wasn’t the most reliable person around. He owns a trading company, but he made some bad decisions with his investments, so when I was 14 and his debts caught up with us, I had to grow up very fast. My eldest sister was already in college, my other sister about to graduate and be off to college, too, so it was just me and dad and we had to make it somehow. I worked lots of jobs to help keep us afloat, and after high school, I started working immediately. I actually didn’t start college until I was 22.” 

If Rhysand was surprised by this, he didn’t let it show. He was quiet, listening intently, so Feyre continued.

“I guess growing up with such a father, I became quite capable at a lot of things. But I also developed a tendency to always take care of things. So I would somehow always end up with guys like my father. People who needed someone to look after them. People who needed _ me _ to look after them, or so I thought. Because for a long time, being needed was the only form of affection I knew and could handle.  And then two years ago, I met Tamlin. It was at a friend’s party. Well actually, I met Lucien first, Tamlin’s best friend, who happened to introduce us. I didn’t like Tamlin at first. In fact, I wanted to run whenever he showed up. And he showed up everywhere. Whenever I met with Lucien, he would show up and Lucien conveniently had something to do, or forgot an appointment and left me alone with him. Then he started showing up at my part-time job, or at my school. Really, there was no escaping him. At first he would awkwardly try to make conversation, but soon he started asking for dates. He wouldn't stop pestering me, no matter how often I refused.” 

Feyre kept fiddling with her scarf, her eyes on the foliage again. She avoided looking at Rhysand. 

“I don’t know when exactly, but at some point I gave in. And at first he was really sweet. For the first time, someone took care of me and not the other way round. I didn’t need to manage his household, or his life or anything. Instead Tamlin handled everything. Where to go on dates, what we ate - you get the picture. It was comfortable for a while, to let go of all responsibilities, not to be the one to make all decisions. At some point though, it became too much. He would make  _ all _ decisions. What clothes I wore, where I went, which people I was to meet with. And before I knew it, I was engaged."

Feyre heard Rhys inhale sharply, but she didn't dare look at him. 

"Funny thing is, it never occurred to me, that I could say no. Tamlin had not only taken care of me and showered me with gifts, but he also helped my dad back on his feet. His father owns a huge corporation, back home he’s like the unofficial ruler of the district. Tamlin worked in a leading position in his father’s company, so when he heard of my fathers… let’s call it misfortunes, he pulled some strings to help my father back on his feet. How could I reject his proposal, when he basically pulled my family out of their financial misery? I thought I owed him somehow.”

With a little rueful smile, she finally turned to look at Rhysand and was taken aback at the look of cold fury plainly visibly on his face. But when he noticed her looking at him, he merely nodded for her to continue. She swallowed.

“But that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it. For me to become dependent on him, so I couldn’t leave. I didn’t realize what was happening to me until it was too late. I was unhappy, yet I kept telling myself that I wasn't, that this just was how things were supposed to be, that I was being ungrateful after all he had done for me. He gave me money and clothes and took care of everything. If I married him, I would have led a comfortable life as a rich wife. Only that's not how it is in reality. It was only after I left that I realized how unhealthy this relationship had been. That instead of a partnership, we had been addicted to each other, him feeding my addiction to be needed, albeit in another way than I was used to. And me feeding his addiction, his need to protect and having someone that he could take care of, someone he perceived to be weaker than himself, so he could overlook his own insecurities and low self-esteem. But like with a drug, you can’t get away, even when you know it’s bad for you.” She took a shuddering breath.

“Tamlin and I… We didn’t fit. We were constantly fighting, constantly pushing and pulling. My emotions were all over the place all the time, going from high to low, from hot to cold. Feeling like that… I thought that was love. Because that is what they tell you in all those stories and movies and songs. The crazy, the intense, the all consuming passion, that this is what love is. That if it is not exiting, burning, in turmoil, then it is not love. In reality it was stress. Constant stress. And at some point my body couldn’t hold up anymore. I had headaches almost everyday. I couldn’t sleep, and when I did I had nightmares. More often than not I would hurl my guts up afterwards. I couldn’t hold my food down. Instead, I drank more than was healthy to soothe my nerves. But then again Tamlin didn’t like me drinking. He didn’t like anything I was doing. I couldn’t make it right for him.” 

Feyre broke off, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers, and exhaling with a sigh.

“How.” Rhysand asked softly. Feyre looked up to him.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“How did you get away?” His face still bore that look of rage, but his voice was calm and steady. 

Feyre let her mind wander to that moment with Alis in the shop, wearing that horrendous nightmare of a wedding dress. She winced at the memory of how she had looked. And how even then she would have probably stayed with Tamlin and married him, if it hadn't been for Alis who hadn't been afraid to tell her the ugly truth straight to her face.

“My friend helped me.” 

A knowing look overcame his features and Rhysand accepted this explanation without prying further. They continued their walk in silence for a minute and Feyre could still feel his ire. It was almost palpable, like heat radiating from his body. It was unsettling having someone that angry close. She didn't know what part of her story he reacted to strongly to, but she hag a good guess. He was probably imagining killing Tamlin in every way possible. But to be fair, Tamlin hadn't been the only one at fault and she hadn’t been his victim. She told him as much.

“I probably hurt him just as much, you know. I was the biggest stressor in his life, because I just wouldn't behave like he wanted be not. It's not in my nature to sit still and follow instructions. I should have never even gone out with him, or stayed with him as long as I did. But I wasn't honest with myself, so how could I be with him? Growing up as I did, I never learned to communicate well. Neither with the people around me, nor with myself. I only knew to ignore my own needs and put other's needs first. Even if I had to wreck myself fulfilling them.”

Feyre stopped again and waited for Rhysand to look at her again. When he did, she looked him dead in the eye.

“The reason why I tell you all this is not because I want your pity or because I want to cast myself as a victim here, but…” She took another deep breath. “I need… I want you to know that I am broken and healing. And it will probably take a long time before I am fully okay. I'll probably grapple with some issues my whole life. Like learning to communicate properly. And my need to be in control in any given situation.”

Rhys’ eyes had softened at her words. He seemed to understand where she was coming from. Feyre  _ needed _ him to understand.

“Like being somewhere without a way out or protect yourself, in case someone has harmful intentions? Like my house or the middle of the woods?” He asked softly. Ferye nodded. 

“It is not that I assume you would… It’s just… I have been locked up and robbed of my freedom for so long, I don't want to have it taken away from me ever again. That may make me a paranoid -”

“No!” Rhys stopped her before she could finish that sentence.

“No, that makes you smart. Remember what I said about learning about decisions and strategies by looking at the past?” Feyre nodded and he continued.  “Well, you do the same, only you look at your own past and reflect upon the decisions you made. I would hardly call you paranoid; experienced would be more like it.” 

The fact that he understood had Feyre nearly in tears. She was overcome with the sudden urge to run into his arms and press her lips to his, but instead she chose to let her head fall like a veil to cover her face so he wouldn't see her the silver lining her eyes and her red face and murmur a quiet thank you. 

“There is no need to thank me. I actually can relate quite well to where you are coming from.” Feyre’s head whipped around. Rhysand gave her a sad little smile. “I had similar shitty relationships in the past.”

Her mouth hung open and she quickly closed it. 

“No shit? Do tell!”

“What a dirty mouth you have there, Feyre darling.” He winked playfully and made a wide sweeping motion with his arm while bowing at the waist. “After you, Mylady. Lead the way. I'll talk as we walk. 

Feyre understood his offer. He had handed her over the reigns for the remainder of their date. She could lead them towards a more crowded area in a matter of minutes, or have them continue at her convenience. If she hadn't trusted him to be a decent guy, she sure as hell did now. So when they approached the crossroads, she took a good long look at him and when he met her gaze open and unrelenting, she gave him a little smile and, to his surprise, took the path that he had intended in the first place, leading them deeper into the forest. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear all,
> 
> in my country we celebrate Saint Niklas' Day on December 6. Good children will wake up to little surprises stuffed in their boots. Here's a little Saint Niklas' Day surprise for all of you!
> 
> +++ trigger warning+++  
> mention of sexual assault and abusive relationship

“Well, where were we. Ah yes, shitty relationships.” 

Rhysand blew warm air into his frozen hands and rubbed them against each other to generate some warmth, before shoving them back into the pockets of his leather jacket. Feyre opted for her gloves and put on her beanie. It was really quite cold and they were going to be out for a bit longer.

“I had two. Well the first one wasn't exactly a relationship, it was more or less one-sided on her part, but still a rather unpleasant experience.” Rhysand raised his shoulders in discomfort. “It was during my freshman or sophomore year, I think. I used to study at HCU during my undergraduate and graduate studies.”

“HCU?”  Feyre frowned. She had never heard of it.

“Hewn City University. It's about two hours from here. My family on my father’s side hails from there. Actually, they practically run the city. Old money, with ties in local politics and businesses. Mor is from that side of the family, her dad is a really big man in Hewn City.” 

He shrugged it off nonchalantly, but Feyre saw through his mask. He didn’t seem too fond of his father’s family, Mor being the sole exception.

“Anyways, we were this group of people, that took some seminars together. Not really friends, but people you casually hang out with at school, you know? And there was this girl, Ianthe, that was pining after me, only I didn't get it at the time.” 

“Wait, did you say Ianthe?” Feyre interrupted, the name stabbing her like a knife. How big a chance was there for two people to have such a unique name. “Ianthe Preacher? Blond, green eyes, about my height?”

Rhysand looked at her in stunned disbelief. “You know her?”

“Fat chance.” A strangled laugh escaped her lips. “She was my wedding planer.”  _ And she did a really shitty job _ . But she kept that thought to herself. Rhysand looked positively bewildered as it was.

“Wow. It  _ is _ a small world,” he murmured absentmindedly, running a hand through his hair. Feyre snorted.

“Sorry, please continue.”

“Okay. Urmm..." she said, trying to gather his thoughts after her revelation. "So it was one day after a seminar, when we were all saying our goodbyes, that she somehow managed to invite herself over to my place.” 

Feyre shot him a disbelieving look and Rhysand raised his hands as if in defense. 

“Don't ask me how she even managed. One minute I am all like ‘see you tomorrow’, the next she's sitting on my couch in my living room and I have no clue as to how she got there and what to do with her. Seemed like she had a pretty good idea about what to do with me, though, because suddenly, she pounced on me and started feeling me up. And I can assure you, it wasn't nice. I felt violated.” He shuddered visibly. 

“How did you make her stop? You did, didn't you?” Feyre asked in a small voice. She knew something had been off with Ianthe. Thinking back now, her and Tamlin’s friend Lucien had been bristling whenever she was around. Feyre had thought, he just didn’t like her, but if she was anything like Rhysand described, maybe there was more to the story. 

Rhysand shook his head and forced out a disgusted laugh.

“I had no idea what to do. When you're a guy and a girl's all over you, you're supposed to enjoy it, right? It's not sexual assault or rape, if it's done by a woman. You know what the first reaction is you get, when you admit a woman has forced herself on you? They ask, whether she was hot, before giving you a high five. You ought to thank the Mother for opportunity to get laid, not call the police or sue. Nobody will believe you anyway. I mean, what men get’s raped by a woman? Men are supposed to be stronger, right? They can push the woman off? But if you physically defend yourself, _ she _ will sue for assault or bodily harm, so either way, you are truly fucked - quite literally so.” 

Feyre was horrified and he gave her a little, bitter smile. 

“So there I was, trying to figure out how to get her to stop feeling me up through my pants, when my cousin Mor bursts in. Due some circumstances, she was staying with me at that time. And since that couch was practically her bed, she had something to say about other people getting it on on it. I was never happier to see her.”

“And then?” Feyre almost didn’t dare ask.

He pulled up the collar of his jacket and shrugged. “I threw her out on her ass and bought Mor a very expensive bottle of wine as thanks. And then I did my best to avoid Ianthe at all costs, though it proved to be… difficult.” 

Ferye shook her head. She knew that it wasn't only women, who had to deal with unwanted advances, but to hear someone recount his personal experience of assault... She wanted to claw that bitch’s face off. She was surprised by the sudden vehemence of that wish. Rearranging her scarf, she asked: “What did she do?”

Rhysand let out a long sigh. “Tried to corner me at every chance possible, touching me and stuff. She started telling people, we were dating, and somehow got her hands on my number, calling and texting constantly. Once she showed up at my apartment, but luckily it was Mor who opened the door and scared her away. Needless to say, I bought her another fancy bottle of wine. Spoiled her taste buds rotten, now she won't drink anything unless it's really good - and expensive.” 

Despite what he was telling her, Feyre couldn’t contain the grin that spread on her face. An image of Mor was starting to form in her head and she sounded like someone Feyre would get along with just fine.  _ I can’t wait to meet her _ , she thought.  _ Wait what? _

“And then, Mor bit my head off, because she was really annoyed the whole situation and also really worried for me, I think. So I confronted Ianthe and told her to keep her hands to herself and leave me the fuck alone. It turned rather ugly for while, her claiming I had forced myself on her, spreading rumors on social media and stuff. But eventually things calmed down and she moved on - probably onto another target.“ 

He glanced sideways at Feyre. “Though I get it. I am rather handsome! I would certainly not be able to keep my hands off me either.” 

Feyre rolled her eyes and punched him lightly on the shoulder. 

“Prick”, she muttered under her breath. He chuckled. She was glad he was able to laugh about it, although she didn’t know that was only a front. 

“You said you had two bad experiences. What about the other?” she asked. 

Rhysand tensed up immediately. What could have been worse than what he had already told her?

“Ah, my other experience was more of an... emotional and psychological abuse.” He didn’t look at her, but kept staring straight ahead. They neared another crossroads and he stopped for her to lead the way again, but Feyre couldn't care less, instead she peered up into his face.

“If it's too much, you don't have to-”, she started.

“No” he interrupted, turning towards her with a thoughtful expression. “I want to tell you!”

She saw him struggling for the right words to say. 

“You said you had trouble communicating. Well I do too. I'm not very comfortable sharing my feelings, or wishes, or weaknesses. I keep them all to myself, because I want to burden other people with them. I guess we are similar in that respect. But if you're willing to listen, I'd like to tell you. Share that with you. Because,” he said and his gaze turned impossibly soft, “I would like for this -” he was pointing between the both them, “I would like for this to continue for a long time. Be it as friends, or… more.” 

Feyre’s heart fluttered in her throat and she blushed deeply, but managed a nod. There was no way they could manage as friends. Not with how much she was attracted to him already. She could almost feel the tether binding them, a faint tug in her chest, urging her to get closer, to touch him.  _ Too soon _ , she reminded herself.  _ Get to know him first _ .

So instead of reaching out and place her hand on his chest, like she secretly longed to do, she pointed at a path at random and croaked, “let's continue?” 

Another lingering look, then a nod and they resumed their walk. Rhysand continued his recounting.

“Her name was Amarantha. She was a PhD-student, teaching one of my classes in grad school. She was really intimidating at first; strict and haughty. Like we were all beneath her and not worth her time. But she had a sharp mind and extensive knowIedge in her field, which I found very attractive.” He threw a smirk in Feyre’s direction. “What can I say, I'm a sucker for brainy women.” 

“I'll take that as a compliment.” Her cheeks were still burning. He was really going into the offensive now, with all those sneaky comments and backhanded compliments.

“You should! Anyways, I kept up in her class well enough, that I somehow caught her interest and then one thing led to another and we started dating after I had finished her class. It was nice at first, but eventually things got strained.” He exhaled a shaky breath.

“You see, the reason she was so knowledgeable was because she was working harder than anyone I knew. She was determined to be the best at everything. At the beginning, I merely shrugged it off as ambition, because there is nothing wrong with pursuing the goals you set yourself. But the more time we spent together, I realized she was obsessed. She would read nothing but papers and textbooks until late at night. And when she realized I was easily catching up, that I wasn’t just her dumb student, but considered to pursue a PhD myself, she would often make a show of how much she did for school. Whenever we were together, she read articles. Instead of a book, she’d take textbooks to bed. All the while telling me, how I wouldn't make it, how I wasn't really PhD-track material, or how I was lacking drive, because I didn't study until late at night. 

I considered breaking up with her then, because beyond her studies, she had no interest in life, no hobbies, no friends. She didn't want to meet with my friends, or go out, or talk about anything other than her thesis. I got tired of it. But when she noticed me withdrawing, she wouldn't let me.” 

Rhysand’s eyes shuttered close and he swallowed, probably reliving the worst of his memories. Seeing him like this, Feyre couldn't help herself. She tentatively put a hand on his arm.

“Rhys?”

He opened his eyes and gave her a weak smile, because she had finally used his nickname, placing his own hand on her’s and squeezing it softly. His hand was freezing.

“I'm okay. It's just… looking back, it's hard to understand how I could not see her for what she was, what she did to me.” 

Feyre nodded. She felt the same every time she thought back to her time with Tamlin. He released her hand and she let go of his arm. She wouldn't have minded if they had continued holding hands, but he had already slipped his back into the pockets of his leather jacket. 

“The thing with Amarantha was, she was not only smart, she was cunning and manipulative. She had this uncanny way of figuring out people's weaknesses and exploiting them for her own gain. She figured out mine, before I even knew them myself, and played me like a fiddle. She could easily have me do things I normally wouldn't and I didn't even realize. Not before my friends pointed it out to me. I didn't mind it terribly at first, not before it started to affect my life in a matter that I couldn't ignore.” 

His eyes grew hard as he stared at nothing in particular, a muscle feathering in his jaw.

“If she wanted something from me, she would blackmail me. First emotionally, starting to cry, or feigning illness, trying to stoke my sympathy or pity and give in to her. If that didn't work, she'd resort to seducing me. And if that didn't make me do as she wanted, she'd actually blackmail me, threatening me to destroy me, my life, my career...

I had considered applying for the PhD-track at HCU’s history department. Around the time of application, things between us were bad and I began to resent her, but she wouldn’t let me break up with her. She made it clear, that she could ruin my chances at being accepted into the program. I later found out she was sleeping with a professor at the faculty while we were dating. She probably had been since before. Maybe that’s how she got into the program in the first place.  She had me in the palm of her hand. I hated her so much at that point. I hated being with her, sleeping with her, being touched by her… But I was still not able to get away. Not until she turned her eyes towards my family.”

He turned around to Feyre, burning with the same rage as he had earlier, when she had told her story. Her past with Tamlin must have invoked memories of his time with Amarantha, she realized. So he really  _ did _ understand.

“I never liked her near my family, my inner circle of friends. I don't know why, I must have instinctively felt, it was better to keep her away from them, protect them from her. So when she frequently started mentioning Mor and the others, I knew I had to end it. Regardless of the consequences. She could do whatever she wanted with me, but the thought that she somehow harmed my family...” 

He broke off, too overcome with emotion to put them into words.

“You love your cousin very much”, Feyre stated softly.

He was quiet for a moment, pondering. “The friend you spoke off earlier-”

“Alis”, she supplied.

“Alis”, he repeated. “I'd assume Alis means to you what Mor means to me. She is the only blood relative I have left, not counting her father, whom we both regard as the utter piece of trash he his and would gladly wipe our hands clean off. She is like a sister to me. To have Amarantha have do the things to her she did to me… She had crossed the line.  I invited her to a café to tell her it was over. I hoped she wouldn't make a scene in such a public setting.” He shook his head, smiling at himself. “ _ Cauldron boil me _ , I was as naïve as it gets. Of course she knew what was coming and didn't even let me finish speaking. She attacked me - right there, in the middle of a crowded café. Bloodied me up quite a bit, almost scratching my face off.” 

Feyre’s breath caught in her throat. “She had sharp nails.” Rhysand winced at the memory

“Didn’t you defend yourself?” Feyre gasped. Rhysand smile was a thing of cruel beauty, sharp like a knife.

“Enough to ensure she didn't do permanent damage. But I let her leave enough bruises and scratches to collect evidence for an assault case and didn't hit back, so she couldn't claim self-defense.” 

Feyre’s jaw almost hit the floor. That he had thought that far ahead during that moment. When she left Tamlin, she only ever thought about getting away as fast as possible, getting out. She told him as much. He shrugged.

“I told you, I wasn't taking any chances with her going after Mor. I'd gladly wreck myself for the people I love.” 

Feyre was blown away. Such fierce determination, such strength, such an idiotic act of self-sacrificing. She wondered how Mor must have felt seeing him afterwards. 

As if he had read her mind, he said, “Mor, of course, was furious. She chewed me out for hours, then shipped me off to the hospital to have my injuries assessed and documented and have our family’s lawyer build a case immediately. She even went to the Dean's office to raise hell, threatening to make public how Amarantha had exploited her status to blackmail me. I was mortified, but when the word spread, other students came forward. Seems like she had intentionally failed some undergrad students she didn't agree with, or who wouldn't return her… advances. Some she downright forced to have sex with her.” 

Feyre felt her temper flare. 

“What happened to her?” she growled. Rhysand gave her a surprised look, but answered.

“She was thrown out of the program and the professor she was involved with, Hybern, was - how did they phrase it - ‘encouraged to seek employment elsewhere’. They tried to hush up the whole affair, so the school wouldn't get negative press, offering me a place in the PhD-track as bribe, but rather than stay there, I applied to Velaris U and got accepted into the economics program here. And then we sued the university and Amarantha for what it was worth, though that bitch got away too easy.” He snorted in disgust.

“Dating such a monster, sometimes I wonder what that says about me, what kind of person it makes me”, Rhysand said, his voice dripping with self-loathing. 

“Same as me I'd say”, Ferye responded sharply. It had come out harsher than she intended, the anger, at Amarantha and Ianthe, Tamlin and basically all the unfairness and how poeple treated each other like shit, still coiling in her belly like a snake, making her voice hard. “Don’t beat yourself up because of it. You didn’t know then. Now you do. Same as me,” she added more softly. 

Rhysand’s face grew solemn. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Besides, Amarantha is nothing compared to the stalker that turned up at my dorm room every other day,” she claimed, trying to lighten the mood and distract him from his dark thoughts.

“Oh?” Rhysand cocked his head and smirked at the challenge she threw his way. “Do tell, darling!”

☽✴☾

They traded war stories about dates gone bad and persistent pursuers back and forth as they walked, laughing away the gloom of their earlier heavy conversation. Eventually, Feyre told him about that disastrous first Tinder date and he burst out laughing, before sharing his own heinous experiences. He was genuinely surprised she had only been on Tinder for a few weeks and actually hadn’t been actively looking for dates. She couldn’t help but laugh at the look of smug pride plastered across his face, because he had managed to get her to go on a second date.

“How long have you been on Tinder, then?” she asked.

She had told him of their girls’ night and the categories they had come up with, only to find out, that he had some of his own. He had then confessed, that he had taken one look at her natural wavy hair and the smattering of freckles visible in the one picture she had on her profile (which, in fact, only showed half her face, because she wasn’t really comfortable with putting pictures or personal info on her social media) and swiped. On top of brainy women, he also had a thing for curly hair and freckles, he had admitted with a wink. 

“Not that long. August maybe?”

“Why though?” 

When he looked at her with his eyebrows raised, she elaborated.

“Well I have a hard time believing that with a face like yours, you have trouble meeting girls.”

“Are you calling me pretty, darling? Feyre rolled her eyes at him and he smirked, but set to explain.

“Well, I’m really busy usually, with my studies and all that, so the only people I meet are at uni. That reduces the dating pool significantly, because the further you go down the academic road, the more people drop out along the way, so you are left with those you have already dated or don’t care to date. And since I’m not big on the whole clubbing thing, except for when my friends make me do it, I don’t really meet new people. Not that the people you meet in clubs are actually the ones you can built a solid relationship with. And I’m not really into casual encounters.”

Feyre was surprised at how much she could relate, but also that Rhysand wasn’t the type for one-night stands. Well he kind of looked like it, with his stupidly handsome face and smirking. She herself was certainly not shy, when it came to taking care of certain needs. She had had flings and one-night stands before. Nothing after Tamlin though.

“So you’re looking for a serious relationship then?” she asked. With all the flirting and his cocky attitude, she had actually not taken him for that type. Let alone that he was looking for it on  _ Tinder _ . One had to admire his spunk.

“You aren’t?” he asked back, his voice wary.

Something twisted in her gut. Well, she certainly wanted to be with someone again eventually, but she had just left Tamlin at the beginning of this year and they had planned to get  _ married _ , for Cauldron’s sake. It somehow didn’t feel right for her to move on that quickly, regardless of how shitty a relationship it had been.  _ But with someone like Rhysand _ …

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t really given it a thought.”

Rhysand hummed in response and they continued walking in silence for a while.  Before they even knew it, they had cleared the forest and were almost back to the spot where they had started. 

“Well, there we are,” Rhysand stated awkwardly, while they stood rooted on the spot, not knowing how to continue. Feyre certainly hoped this hadn’t been all of it and was surprised at her own admission.

“Huh,” was all she managed to say.

“If you want, I can give you a city tour?” Show you to places?” Rhysand tried to keep his face neutral, but Feyre could glimpse the hope shining in his violet eyes.

“Yes! Yes please! I also still owe you that coffee. Maybe we find a nice café on the way?” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager, but Feyre was glad to jump at the opportunity to prolong their date. Being with him was just comfortable, just...  _ right _ in a way. Other than with Alis, she had never had that connection with anybody. She didn’t want it to stop just yet. And judging by the way his face lit up at her words, he didn’t want it to stop either.

So he led her around his favourite streets, all the while talking, getting to know each other better and better with every passing minute. She hadn’t laughed and talked like this in a long while.  They climbed a flight of stairs, that led up to a little walkway along the edge of the Sidra, the river running through Velaris, and Feyre gasped in delight at the view that spread out before her: at this spot, the river formed a sharp bend. From where they stood, the other bank of the river appeared like a stone island floating in the middle of the gushing river. Little stone houses were neatly tucked in against each other onto the cramped space, each painted a different shade of pastel. There were lot’s of yellows, oranges and reddish-browns, interspersed with the occasional blue and green. Not one house was the same, they were often crooked, leaning towards the street or towards each other, not one right angle to be found. Almost every house had a little shop on street level and the narrow streets were bustling with activity. It looked like a jewel box. Feyre stood on the walkway, transfixed. She wanted to paint this.  _ Really _ wanted to. From behind her, she could her a breathy laugh.

“This is called the Rainbow. It was my sister's favourite view of the city.” She turned and looked up to Rhysand, who was taking in in her reaction, rather than the view.

“Was?”

“She died a few years back. She and my Mom. Car accident” Her heart constricted. Right, he had mentioned that Mor was his only living blood relation.

“No need to look so sad, darling. It’s been a long time. But I like to come here sometime to remember her. She used to refuse to leave, screaming and pleading and when Dad dragged her home by force.” He chuckled fondly.

“It is lovely, thank you sharing with me.”

He gazed at her warmly. “You're welcome.” He pointed to a bench. “Wanna sit for a bit and enjoy the view?” She nodded enthusiastically. 

They sat down and Rhysand and pulled his satchel onto his lap. Feyre blinked. Until now, she hadn't noticed he had been carrying a bag.  _ Because the only thing you notice are those beautiful eyes _ , she scolded herself, blushing a bit at the thought. She blinked even more, when he began pulling out stuff: a giant thermos container, several Tupper with fruits and cookies, a  _ damn blanket -  _ seriously, what else had he in there?

“Pray tell, where does that magical portal of yours lead?” she joked, as he handed her the blanket and pulled out  _ another _ for himself. It was warm and fuzzy, smelling slightly of citrus.  _ Of him,  _ she realized. She toof another clandestine sniff.

“Huh?”

“Your bag. There is no way all of this fits into your bag, so it's either magically enlarged on the inside, or it's a portal to another realm.”

Rhysand and gave her a cocky grin and unscrewed the cap of the thermos. “Yeah. A pocket realm. Very convenient for storing things,” he jested and poured out tea for her. He handed over the cap that doubled as cup and Ferye gladly wrapped her hands around the warm container. “Though it seems it’s currently not storing mugs.” He frowned peering into the bag. “We need to share the cup, if you don't mind.” Still frowning, he stuck his hand back into the bag and started rummaging. “Ha!” he suddenly exclaimed and smiled triumphantly, pulling out little bags of sugar, “at least I got the sugar!” Feyre laughed lightheartedly. He was just so adorable.

They sat on that bench for a while, sharing tea and snacking, while Rhysand gave her a rundown of Velaris’ history and explaining how that glittering jewel box on the other bank was the oldest part of the city. Feyre listed attentively. He might have been a sucker for brainy woman, but she sure was one for brainy men.  _ Brainy man with black hair and violet eyes and the most beautiful smile the Cauldron could've cooked up. _

When tea and blankets couldn't keep away the moist November chill any longer, they decided to warm up by walking some more, but not before Rhysand made sure Feyre appropriately admired his superior packing skills, vanishing everything back into his satchel. They continued down the walkway along the river, still not touching, but walking close enough for their shoulders and arms to brush against each other every so often. And Feyre found, she was more than content.


	7. Chapter 7

They had continued their walk for hours and probably would have for some more, if Rhys - how she came to call and think of him - hadn't looked at the nearby bus stop’s electronic display in dismay and declared, that he had training in a little while and needed to head home. Feyre dug out her cellphone to look at the time. It was a quarter to 5pm. She was baffled. They'd been walking all across Velaris for almost 5 hours!

“Wow, time sure flies by,” she stated. Rhys gave a little chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I wish I could stay, but I can't miss training… “

“What kind of training?” Feyre asked.

“Tennis. Did you know it was invented -”

“During the middle ages in cloisters and then taken up amongst nobility because it served as a way to train their sword arm in times of peace. Duh!” Feyre rolled her eyes at him.

“Of course you know. Why do I even bother asking.” He smirked at her.

“I keep asking myself the same,” she shot back, but her heart wasn't in it. Their mood had dampened with the end of the date drawing near. Yet, neither of them showed any inclinations to move. They just stood there in awkward silence, looking anywhere but at each other. Feyre was desperately fumbling for words.

“Well then -” he started.

“I still haven't bought you your coffee!” Feyre blurted out and immediately regretted it. This coffee excuse was getting old. But Rhys took it up eagerly.

“Right. We can't have me shamelessly treating you to coffee without offering you the chance to pay me back. How about this; my training is until 6:30pm. We could meet up again around 8pm? Should be enough time to shower and eat. Or maybe we could have dinner together?”

Feyre was at a loss for words. She was certainly sad to have their date end and eager to see him again, but two dates in one day? Wasn't that a bit much? The speed they were going at would have him propose by Sunday next week. She was about to decline, but when she looked at Rhys, how he stood there with his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders raised, as if he was already bracing himself for the rejection he was sure would come, yet not able to contain his hopeful expression, she melted. He was just too adorable. And really, whom was she kidding, she really wanted to see him again as soon as possible.

So she smiled and offered, “I know a pub that makes a mean pork roast.”

His lips parted in a beatic smile that took her breath away. “I _love_ pork roast,” he purred, putting lots of stress on ‘love’. Feyre’s heartbeat quickened.

“8pm then? I'll send you the address.”

“Perfect.”

And this time, it was him that hugged her first, arms coming around her waist and crushing her into his chest. With his head resting on her shoulder, his neck was left exposed in perfect kissing distance and Feyre could smell his scent, that rose from the heated skin. So far, her attraction for him had been mostly on an emotional level, but with their bodies pressed so close all of a sudden, especially after the total lack of physical contact so far…

Desire pooled low in her belly, burning fast and hot. Like tinder. Feyre snaked her arms around his body and placed her hands on his back, but resisted the urge to press her lips to his neck. He squeezed her a bit tighter in response. When they eventually pulled away, she was slightly flushed and Rhys’ ears were suspiciously pink. It could have been because of the cold, though.

“See you later, darling,” he said in a husky voice.

Feyre merely nodded and smiled up at him, before she turned around and started walking away. But not without looking back to Rhys’ retreating figure. The exact same time he turned to catch a last look at hers.

☽✴☾

It had been the best date of her life, but the moment Feyre was alone again in her apartment, not distracted by Rhys‘ presence, his wit, his dazzling smile and those beautiful eyes, all her doubts and fears came crashing down once again. She was feeling too much too quickly and she didn’t know how to process these emotions. Feyre felt panic seizing her and tried to fight against it. She was terrified.

She didn’t like people getting too close, she was more comfortable keeping them away at a casual, albeit polite distance. It was easier this way. Because when she would let them in and they let her down, it just hurt too much. And she had been hurt over and over. But Rhys... She had only known him for a few days, yet she had told him things she usually would never tell others, let alone the second time they met! _Cauldron boil her_ , she had told him about Tamlin! Not even Alis knew all the details. And the things he had told her in return... They had laid their souls bare before one another. And it scared the living hell out of her.

Feyre paced her apartment, needing to work the surplus of adrenaline out of her system. Normally she would have gone for a walk, then again, she had just come back from one that had lasted nearly 5 hours! With the most perfect guy she ever met. She exhaled sharply and rubbed her face with her hands. She needed to calm down, to think. Most of all, she needed to cancel her dinner date with Rhys. He was being pushy. Wanting to meet her again so soon was definitely being pushy. Then again, she never felt like he pushed her to do something she didn’t like or wanted. He had given her a choice there, not demanded they met. _Not like Tamlin_. No, he was nothing like Tamlin. He wouldn’t force anything on her, make her feel like she was nothing, like she was small and insignificant and nothing without him.

But what if he merely wanted to get her into bed? She wouldn’t mind just sleeping with him, she actually really wanted to. But she couldn’t imagine just fucking him and then never seeing him again. And she wouldn’t be able to handle being sex buddies with him, they were already too close for that. And after what he had told her about Iante and Amarantha...

With a face like his, he had no trouble getting girls into bed, regardless of whether him claiming not to be the type for casual encounters was true or not. There was no need for him to go to such lengths just to bed her. No, he was genuinely interested in her. _Cauldron_ , he had explicitly _told_ her he wanted this thing between them to be a long term thing, to be _more_. Just staying friends wouldn’t work, at least not for her. Not when she was already incredibly turned on from him just hugging her goodbye!

_But what if he asked her to be his girlfriend and she committed herself to a relationship, but then it didn’t work out and they broke up…_

Feyre let out a groan of frustration and threw herself head first onto her bed, burying her face into the soft pillows. There she was, falling back into her usual modus operandi. Instead of dealing with her emotions, she locked them up and shoved them down, trying to ignore what she felt. The only feelings she ever been unable to ignore were basic human needs, like eating and sleeping - and sex. With every relationship so far, she had mistaken lust and physical attraction as the first signs of love. That is why, when after the first few weeks the constant sexual craving for the other had faded, she had fallen out of love with all of her previous boyfriends - or so she had thought. All except for Tamlin, her only relationship that had lasted longer than a year. Because their constant fighting and the subsequent high-strung emotions had caused such a turmoil, that she had constantly needed to reassure herself of their relationship and her feelings for him, using sex as a means to seek the emotional closeness he couldn’t provide. As long as her body felt attracted to him, she had thought her heart must be, too.

Maybe if she had chosen a nice guy for once, someone like Rhysand, who actually, genuinely cared and attentively listened to what she had to say and what she cared about, she would have noticed much sooner that her concept of love was a twisted one. But no, she had chosen the assholes instead, she always did. The ones that were emotionally withdrawn and treated her like shit. Because was used to that kind of treatment, it was all she had known growing up in that dysfunctional family of hers. She was not used to the the gentle, loving affection the nice guys dished out unconditionally, instead she was accustomed to affection coming with conditions: behaving as expected, getting good results at work or school, taking on odd jobs, shouldering other’s burdens or accepting inconveniences so others could be happy. She was more comfortable that way, because they didn’t pry and try to get behind her defenses. Because the only kind of intimacy they craved from her was the one she was able to provide: her body. Not her heart. Her dark, twisted, sad and very, very vulnerable heart.

She was scared of feeling, especially of admitting how she felt towards Rhysand. And she was terrified to fall in love with him, to give him everything of herself, only to be left alone again in the end. That was what she was most afraid of. To be left alone. And so far, she always had been.

Feyre clenched her hands into fists and let out a scream of fury into her pillow. This wouldn’t do. After Tamlin, she had promised herself to do better, she needed to change this pattern of hers, her negative way of thinking. Else, she would never be able to have a healthy relationship. Feyre rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, trying to relax. There was no use going ‘what if’, she only worked herself into a frenzy that way. No, she needed to do the opposite, to actually talk herself through her emotion, talk with somebody about it. Not anybody - Alis.

Feyre’s eyes flew open. Of course. She needed to talk to Alis. She had been grilling her for details about Rhys anyways. Feyre quickly got up and rummaged through her purse for her phone. It was 5:23pm on a Friday, Alis should be home by now. Feyre dialed and sat back on the bed, impatiently waiting for Alis to pick up. Finally, it connected.

“Hey, what’s up?”

☽✴☾

“Are you still there?” Feyre whispered into the receiver.

For the last half hour, Feyre had told Alis everything, steadily growing more and more frantic as the words were just gushing forward. She had told her about their two dates, how she was incredibly attracted to him, but also how she was afraid of going to fast, of messing up yet another relationship. Now she was waiting for Alis so say something, anything, pressing the phone her ear anxiously.

“When you first met Tamlin, what did you feel?”

Feyre gave a start. “What?” Out of anything Alis could have said, that was not what she had been expecting.

“The first time you met him, what did you feel?”

“Really Alis, what does that have to do with-”

“Just answer me. What was the first thing you felt. Like deep in your gut?” Alis wouldn’t back down. So Feyre thought back.

“I didn’t like being around him. I instantly felt like I needed to get away”, she admitted. It was only later, after he had pursued her for weeks and their mutual friend Lucian had practically shoved her into his arms at every chance possible, that she had gotten over her apprehension for him.

“And what did you feel meeting Rhysand for the first time?”

Feyre had no trouble remembering how she had blushed at his smile, thinking it was the most beautiful thing in the world. Just picturing that moment, her chest grew warm and the heat spread to her cheeks.

“Uhm… I was a blushing mess. I was drawn to him instantly,” she admitted, pressing the back of her free hand to her heated cheek in an attempt to cool it down.

“Okay, there you have your answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Listen to your instincts, your gut feeling. With Tamlin, you knew he was bad business, but you chose to ignore your instincts. Follow your gut feeling. And maybe sleep before the date. You stayed up late yesterday, right? Being sleepy only makes you grumpy and have shitty ideas. I have to go now, time for dinner. I want details tomorrow. Love you!”

Feyre stared at her phone, dumbfounded. Brutal. That had been brutal. But Alis always had been, Feyre realized that now. Only she had never bothered opening up to Alis like this, so Alis had been forced to resort to voicing her opinion in a more subtle manner. If Alis had told her point blank that Tamlin was a bad boyfriend and she should leave him, Feyre would have clammed up and shut her out.

Feyre’s heart swelled for her friend. She really didn’t deserve Alis. But she could and would honor her advice. So without further ado, she set her alarm to 7pm and shimmied under the blankets. She had barely closed her eyes when sleep found her, whispering soft kisses to her eyelids and promising her sweet dreams.

☽✴☾

As usual, Rhys was already waiting when she arrived for their dinner date. She had sent him the address after she had woken up earlier, calm after her rest and more assured of their second meeting that day.

He was facing the other direction, his back turned towards her, assuming she would come that way. Unfortunately, she couldn't linger to appreciate the unguarded view of his backside, as she was currently rushing down a hill on her bicycle. It had taken her longer than intended to get ready, so she was left with the choice of either being late, or being in danger of arriving on time, albeit with potentially messy hair. She had chosen the latter.

Making use of the momentum, she let her bike roll out the last meters towards him, startling him as she stopped right next to him with screeching brakes.

“Hey there.” She beamed up at Rhys, smug that she had managed to surprise him. She loved seeing his face transform from blank surprise into this beautiful smile of his, the way it had been at their first meeting. As it did now. The sight of it gave her butterflies in her stomach. Point for Alis.

“Hey,” he answered, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I need to lock my bike, just a second,” Feyre said, quickly averting her gaze and pushing her bike towards the next lantern pole. Rhys trailed closely behind. She took the opportunity of locking her bike to attempt calm herself and gather her wits about her, before she straightened and turned to face Rhys. She took a double take.

“You're wearing a coat!” _And he was looking damn fine wearing it_. Feyre could only stare, hoping she wasn't drooling.

“I promised you I would, Feyre darling,” he purred. He had. After she told him she liked coats on men. Coats like the one he was wearing. “And for that picture of my kitchen.” With great flourish, he pulled out his phone, tapped on the screen and handed it to her. “Choose whichever you like best.”

Feyre burst into giggles. He had actually taken pictures of his kitchen for her. _His big and rather nice kitchen_. She couldn’t believe him.

“What if I had told you I preferred blondes. Would you have dyed your hair for tonight?”

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Possibly.”

Feyre let out a satisfied hum. “I must have you wrapped around my finger, if you're willing to go that far.” She gave him a lazy smile, looking up to him through her lashes.

Rhys’ eyes shone with feline amusement. “Cruel, beautiful woman.”

Feyre blushed deeply at his words and couldn’t make up a clever retort. Instead she kept staring into his eyes and immediately felt the tension rising between them. Feyre’s tongue darted forward to wet her lips and his eyes flickered towards her mouth. It would have been the perfect moment for them to kiss, but Rhys broke their gaze and eyed the pub instead, coughing shyly.

“So this is the place that makes the best pork roast in Velaris?” he asked, seizing up the building.

Feyre was slightly disappointed. She ran a hand flatly over her hair, doing her best to smooth back any hairs that had escaped her hairdo during the ride.

“Yeah. Let’s go in, shall we? I’m freezing.”

She led the way and reached out for the door handle to pull it open, but Rhys was quicker. With a little smile, he held the door open for her and motioned for her to go first. Feyre raised an eyebrow at him. It was endearing - and outdated. Just to see how he would react, she moved quickly to the second, inner door, which served to break the draft from outside, and did the same for Rhys. She half-expected him to be offended, but he merely inclined his head with a little secret smile and stepped into the bar. Feyre was relieved. She was wary of guys who acted like gentlemen, because with the slightly outdated behaviour often came outdated ideas on gender roles - at least in her experience. Thus, she often made a point in showing that she was more than capable of carrying her own bags or holding doors open for anyone - be it men or women. She liked Rhys, she even found his gentlemanly tendencies charming, but she needed to let him know that she was no damsel. If he couldn’t deal with that, she would be out of here in a flash.

Following him into the dimly lit pub, she found him waiting for her. The bar was just starting to get busy around this time. There were plenty of tables still open, but Feyre knew it would be ram packed in another 30 minutes.

“Where do you wanna sit?” he asked, scanning the tables.

“Dunno, maybe over there? By the corner?” Feyre motioned to some tables in the far back. “I makes a good observation spot.” When Rhys turned to look at her, cocking his head, she shrugged. “I like watching people,” she explained.

“So do I.” He smiled and motioned again for her to go first.

They choose the smallest table backed against the wall, seeing that it was only the two of them. Also, Feyre liked how they could overlook the whole pub from this particular table. It was the perfect vantage point for people-watching, although she was currently engaged in a serious round of Rhys-watching. He had taken off his coat to reveal a tight-fitting black shirt, probably custom-made by the way it hugged his broad shoulders and chest. He immediately undid his cuffs and pushed the sleeves up to his elbow, revealing toned forearms. Feyre’s fingers twitched with the desire to run them along the curve of his exposed skin. Instead, she ran them again over her hair, mindful of the messy bun she had piled her hair into in an attempt to look casual, but suitable for a dinner date. She also had taken extra care with her outfit, choosing a long-sleeved black blouse, that was dotted with tiny white triangles and was tied into a ribbon at the neckline. If she leaned forward, the weight from the ribbon would drag her blouse down to reveal her low-cut, lace-rimmed purple camisole. She had had most ulterior motives when she had chosen that particular camisole. And hoped to spur Rhys into having some of his own. Considering how he kept stealing glances at her while making a show of studying the menu, she had succeeded. Smiling slightly to herself, she crossed her arms and put them on the table before her, leaning forward.

☽✴☾

“What are you looking for in a relationship?” Rhys asked suddenly, tone serious.

They had been sitting in the pub for hours now, enjoying their dinner and each other’s company - Rhys had ensured her that the pork roast was indeed the best in all of Velaris. It was almost midnight and they had been deep into conversation, when Rhys had sprung that question at her.

 _He is not flirting_ , she realized. Feyre stared into the distance for a moment, pondering his question.

“I’d want a partner. Not someone I depend on or who depends on me, but someone who is his own person. Someone, who likes me for being me and chooses to spend time with me. Not because he needs to, but because it makes him happy to share that with me. But who is also able and willing to spend time own his own, away from me, because he has his own hobbies and interests. Someone who is my best friend, a person I can spill my heart out to, tell my darkest secrets and greatest fears and who won’t be disgusted by it or judge me for it and walks away when I show him who I am. Or who feels threatened by me and feels the need to prove himself for it.”

“Did that happen to you?” Rhys frowned.

“All the time.” She admitted, shrugging. “I was once dating this guy in high school, who was in the same year. He didn’t like that my grades were slightly better than his. He would get really competitive about it, especially before exams. I couldn’t have cared less, to be honest. Another one I dated briefly in college was really put out that I didn’t downright admire him. He asked me to tutor him for a class he had failed repeatedly. Only he didn’t actually like me tutoring him, because it implied I was smarter than him, or so he thought.” She took a sip of her beer, scowling. “I probably was, though. And he was impossibly vain.”

At that Feyre dared to throw Rhys a look and a smirk. He answered with a smirk on his own and picked an imaginary lint off his shirt. She snorted.

“He’d often ask me whether this shirt or that pants looked good on him and I made the mistake of replying honestly. We clashed more often and he grew distant, cancelling dates and stuff. I broke up with him. Later I found out he had been cheating on me. I reckon with someone who was better at stroking his ego.”

Rhys made a little sound of disgust and shook his head. “Pathetic”

Feyre shrugged again and took another sip. “What are you looking for. In a relationship I mean?”

Rhys carefully searched her face, causing Feyre’s heart to start pounding harder.

“Do you know Platon’s Symposium?” he asked. Feyre shook her head.

“It’s a philosophical text consisting of speeches in praise of the greek god Eros, given by several man at a banquet. One of the men, the playwright Aristophanes, tells a myth about the origin of men. Based on this myth, in primal times humans were spherical beings. They had two faces, four arms and four legs on either side.”

Feyre tried to imagine how such beings might have looked like. All she could come up with was a ball with faces on opposite sides, arms and legs sticking out at odd angles. Her lips twitched.

“How did the walk?” she inquired, trying her best to keep her tone neutral.

“By doing cartwheels,” Rhys deadpanned, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. Feyre couldn’t help it, she giggled.

“There were those that were purely male or purely female, but some were both. They were incredibly powerful beings, but also boisterous and overachieving. Not content with their place in the world, they tried to scale the Olymp and take the place of the gods. To prevent this, but not ridding themselves of their worshippers, Zeus split their bodies in half, creating men as we know them. But the new humans felt something was missing from then, they longed to be whole again. So they sought out other humans and clinged to them in the hopes of growing back together. Those who were purely male before sought out other males, the purely female ones clung to other females and those who were both sought out the other sex. And because all they did was cling to each other, they would have starved eventually, so Zeus took pity on them and put their genitalia in front, so they could deal with their longing in another way.” He smirked at her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Feyre rolled her eyes at him, fighting her blush. “So?”

Rhys’ smirk turned sheepish. “I’m looking for my other half, so I can be whole again.”

Feyre hastily took a sip of her beer. _Cheesy. That sounded so damn cheesy._ Still, her heart pounded even harder. She nervously licked her lips as she set down her drink.

“How does it look like, your other half? she inquired.

Rhys’ eyes bore into her. “I don’t know yet. But I guess they’ll be a lot like me? Since we used to be one.”

“Male then?” Feyre asked. He chuckled and leaned a bit closer, bracing his forearms on the table. Feyre squirmed in her seat.

“I think not, seeing that I’m currently on a date with _you_. Unless you have something to tell me?” He winked and dodged when Feyre swatted at him.

“Prick,” she muttered, cheeks burning. Chuckling darkly, Rhys caught her hand, but released it right away.

“No, I mean someone who thinks the way I do, who holds the same values and beliefs and who is my equal in every way.” He looked deep into her eyes. “A partner, you could say.”

Feyre wasn’t sure she was breathing.

“And how do you make sure that person is your other half?” Her heart was beating frantically at her rib cage. Rhys leaned in even closer.

“I guess I have no choice but to cling to them and see if we fit.”

This close, she could see little flecks of silver in his violet eyes, the flickering candlelight in the pub setting them sparkling. And she could smell his cologne, this enticing mixture of citrus and jasmine and sea. A small part of her wanted to press her nose into his neck and just breath him in. Another wanted to lean forward and catch his lips with hers. _By the Cauldron,_ she wanted him. There was no denying it. She was gone too far for that. So, swallowing, Feyre mustered all of her courage for her next words.

“Why aren’t you clinging to me then?”

Rhys blushed a deep red, all the way to the tips of his ears, but he didn’t pull back.

“Aren’t I though? Clinging to you, I mean,” he asked hoarsely, angling his head. Well considering they were on their second date in one day, he surely had been clingy.

“But you haven’t touched me. For the whole day, you haven’t even tried to hold my hand.” Feyre cast her eyes down to where their hands were lying atop the table, close, but not touching.

“I wasn’t really sure you wanted to be touched by me. And I wouldn’t touch people without their consent.”

Glancing back up, Feyre found him looking at her, his longing now plainly visible on his face. His longing for her. Instead of waiting for him to make the move, she slipped her hand into his.

“I do,” she breathed. His hand was big compared to hers, but felt cold and slightly clammy. “Your hands are cold,” she remarked. Giving him a little shy smile, she added, “and sweaty.”

Rhys groaned and tried to pull away, but Feyre gripped his hand tighter.

“Don’t. I don’t mind,” she said and stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. Rhys swallowed, but returned the stroke with his own thumb.

“Sorry, my hands get like that when I’m nervous,” he admitted.

“You’re nervous?” Feyre blinked in surprise. He had seemed so sure of himself.

“ _Cauldron_ , Feyre, I have been nervous the whole damn day.” He forced out a breathy laugh. Feyre looked at their clasped hands and placed her other hand on the back of his, cupping it between both of hers. She leaned forward.

“I’m nervous, too,” she admitted, squeezing his hand softly.

They sat like this for a while, looking at their joined hands, stealing glances at each other from time to time and enjoying the silence that stretched between them, only interrupted by the steady hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses around them. Feyre kept stroking and playing with his fingers, slowly touching and caressing each individually. Rhys soon returned the favor, pressing little circles onto her skin, her knuckles. He worked his way from the tips of her fingers over her palm and slowly towards her wrist. When he brushed his fingertips over her pulse point, she shivered, the touch sending a tingling feeling shooting down her arm, straight into the pit of her stomach. She halted his approach by grabbing his hand and taking control again. Rhys chuckled and she could feel his gaze on her. Looking up, she gave him a little smile. He leaned in towards her.

“Feyre -”

“Um, excuse me?”

Their heads whipped around to the waiter, who was standing in front of them, looking rather embarrassed. He must have stood here for a while, but they had been so engrossed with each other, they didn’t notice. They hastily drew apart.

“I just wanted to ask you, if you’d like another drink. It’s the last round.”

Feyre stared up to the waiter, wide-eyed. Last round? Already? Rhys took out his phone to look at the time. It was 12:45 am. They had completely lost track of time.

“No, no I think not, thank you,” Rhys stammered, arching an eyebrow at Feyre in question.

She nodded. It was getting late and she should head home anyways. Not that she wanted to. Neither did Rhys. So they finished their drinks as slow as they could and only left the pub, when the barkeeper kept throwing dirty looks their way while hoisting up stools on tables. Rhys let out a deep sigh.

“We should probably go,” he said, observing how the barkeeper made his way to their table, slamming the stools down rather noisily to indicate they were closing.

“Yeah.”

When they stood and made to leave, Rhys caught her hand, a shy smile playing at his lips instead of the usual smirk, and led her out of the restaurant. They walked to where her bike stood and Feyre had to let go of his hand momentarily to unlock the chain that secured her bike to the lantern. After wrapping it under the saddle, she turned back towards Rhys. He held out both hands for her and she took them, closing  the distance between them.

“Thank you for today,” she whispered, mindful of the time and the houses surrounding them. She wouldn’t want to disturb someone’s sleep by talking to loudly.

“No, I have to thank you. See you soon?” he asked.

“Definitely,” she said.

And then he tugged her towards him or she tugged him towards her and their lips came together like stars colliding.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_Finally_.

Feyre instantly relaxed into Rhys’ arms, which had come up to encircle her, palms pressing gently into the small of her back. To feel his soft, warm lips moving against hers eased some of the fraught tension that had been growing between them, but already she could feel another kind of tension building in the pit of her stomach; a sweet, dull ache that throbbed in response to the movements of their lips. A small moan escaped Feyre’s lips. Rhys pulled back to search her face, but Feyre grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and pulled him back towards her, desperate to continue. Rhys exhaled softly and obliged, one hand snaking up her back to rest at the nape of her neck, this thumb gently caressing her jaw as he lowered his lips onto hers once more. Feyre angled her head and raised herself up on the tips of her toes, pressing closer. Opening her lips slightly, she brushed the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip. Rhys shuddered and Feyre could feel his grip on her back tighten. Encouraged by her brash advance, he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting forward and exploring her mouth. With every languid stroke of their tongues, the ache in her belly intensified, until it was accompanied by a delicious throbbing between her legs. Still on her tip-toes, Feyre arched her back, while Rhys leaned further into her, almost holding her up as she tilted backwards to give him better access.

“Feyre,” he whispered against her mouth, before gently biting her lower lip. She moaned, as the throbbing spot between her legs pulsed in response. At that sound, his kiss turned more urgent, heated and Feyre didn’t know whether it was because of the drinks they had, a lack of air, or out of pure, sheer lust, but she started to feel heady and her legs grew weak. In an attempt to hold herself up, she leaned back onto her bicycle, hoping to find the support her legs started to deny her, only for it to topple over when she leaned on it. If it hadn’t been for Rhys still holding her tightly, catching her before she could fall, Feyre would have fallen onto the cobbled street.

Forcibly interrupted by the near fall, Feyre glanced up at Rhys from under her lashes. He was looking at her with half-lidded eyes and bruised lips. She assumed she was in a similar state.

“Seems like we got a bit carried away.” Flashing her a little embarrassed smile, Rhys smoothed back her hair from her face.

Feyre blushed and stretched to give him a chaste peck on the lips, before pulling away to pick up her bike. Lifting it up from the ground, she positioned it between them, needing the barrier to keep herself from throwing herself at him again. Rhys seemed to think the same, because he buried his hands into his pockets.

“Uhm…” Feyre didn’t know what to say. She wanted nothing more to be back in his arms, but the middle of the street just outside a pub was neither the time nor place for it.

“Write me, when you’re home?” Rhys finally asked. “To let me know your safe?”

“Okay,” Feyre mumbled. She couldn’t decide whether she should be relieved he didn’t asked her to go to his or her place, or disappointed.

Rhys nodded and stepped closer, pressing a tender kiss to her brow.

“Drive careful,” he purred.

“I will,” she promised.

And as if he couldn’t resist, Rhys pressed one last lingering kiss to her lips. Feyre produced a happy little hum.

“Really, you will have to actually physically remove yourself, else we are going to stay here the whole night,” she murmured against his lips. Rhys chuckled and withdrew.

“Well then, Feyre darling. I’ll wait for you message.”

And with that, he took a few steps back, but stayed where he was, probably to watch her drive away. He was so attentive, it was almost uncomfortable. Feyre smiled at him fondly while she mounted her bicycle.

“See you in a bit,” she said and then she was off. As she turned the corner, she threw one last look behind to see Rhys still standing there, his black hair and coat melting seamlessly into the night.

☽✴☾

When Feyre woke the next day, she was bleary eyed and grumpy after a short night of fitful sleep.

As promised, she had written Rhys a short message about her arriving home safely and wishing him a good night. He had replied, when he had made it home only shortly after her, wishing her a good night, too, and rather naughtily asked her not to moan too loud when she dreamed of him. Only she had. Dreamed of him. And also moaned a bit doing so.

Sometimes, after she had had a few drinks, her heart rate would pick up during the night, keeping her awake. Though this time, she was sure her heart palpations were not only caused by one too many drinks, but rather the smell of citrus and jasmine that would occasionally waft up from where his scent lingered in her hair or on her skin. And by the memories of his words, the way his eyes had sparkled whenever he had gazed at her, or the sensation of his lips she swore she could still feel on hers. And when she finally drifted to sleep, her dreams were of him: the words, the glances and the touches, both the ones they had shared and those they didn’t. This had been the moment she woke up to her own moans and the throbbing sensation between her legs. It had never really gone away since they had kissed, and nothing, not even her own fingers, could satisfy the desire he had stirred in her.

So she had tossed and turned the whole night, drifting between waking and sleeping and craving all that was Rhysand. Around 7am she had decided that sleep was futile and tossed off her covers, cursing Rhys’ very existence while she showered. Feyre got some coffee from the bakery down the street and returned home to work on some assignments that were due to next week. By 1pm, Feyre was dead tired and had trouble concentrating on her school work. She was just considering taking a nap, when her phone chimed.

_Rhys: How are you, darling? What are you doing?_

Feyre narrowed her eyes at the cause of her second night of restless sleep and pursed her lips.

_Feyre: Cursing the day you were born._

_Rhys: ?_

_Rhys: What did I do?_

_Feyre: Robbing me of my beauty sleep_

Feyre let her phone drop and buried her face in her hand. What was she doing? But somehow, in writing she could admit those things more honestly than in person. She could speak the words that usually eluded her. Not having to deal with his presence helped, too. Right now, he was making her heart flutter when he was not even there, having to say such things to his face… She didn’t know how she did last night. The beer probably helped. The phone chimed again.

_Rhys: Darling, did you dream of me? ;)_

_Cauldron_. Why did she tell even tell him? The sleep deprivation must have fried her brain. _Oh well, there goes nothing_. She bit down on her lip and typed.

_Feyre: I did. And couldn’t sleep because of it. Take responsibility, you prick!_

_Rhys: I’ll gladly offer my shoulder for you to sleep on ;)_

Feyre stared at the message for a long while, before typing her answer.

_Feyre: What’s your address?_

☽✴☾

She couldn’t believe she was doing this.

They had only met on Wednesday, went on two dates that together lasted almost 10 hours on Friday, and now she was on her way to his house on fucking Saturday. Things sure had escalated quickly, At some point, Feyre asked herself when her reservations about going to his place had jumped ship, reservations she had only voiced yesterday. But for some reason she couldn’t explain, she trusted him. She felt drawn to him like a moth to light. Though she certainly hoped she wouldn’t go up in flames coming too close. She just couldn’t stay away.

So she might as well give in and listened to her gut feeling, as Alis had suggested. Although, right now her gut feeling told her that she had taken a wrong turn somewhere, because she couldn’t find the house Rhys’ apartment was at. She sat on her bicycle, facing a four-lane road that intersected the street that his street was supposed to branch off of, with no way to cross in sight. His house was supposed to be further down, but all she could see on the other side of the road was a brick wall. She had no choice but to call.

“Hey darling, everything alright?” he said when he picked up the phone.

“Uhm, I think I may be lost.” She was embarrassed to admit as much, because her sense of direction usually was exceptional. When she was younger, she used to go hunting in the woods by her house and never lost her way.

Rhys let her explain where she was and gave her precise directions how to find his house. She hadn’t been wrong after all, only that the straight route Google Maps suggested didn’t exist. They stayed on the phone, until Feyre found the right street and hung up to hurry the last meters. She was giddy with anticipation.

She pushed her bike down the streets, searching for the right house number, when she saw Rhys standing at the first story window of a yellow house, smiling at her approach and raising his hand in greeting when he saw her noticing him. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Him eagerly waiting for her to arrive was just too adorable.

Curiously, the entrance to the house was in the back, so she had to walk around the house, where she parked her bike and rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans, before walking up to entrance. This was when she realized that she didn’t knew Rhys’ last name. When she thought she had been mortified before, it was nothing compared to what she was feeling now. How did she forget to ask his last name? She was about too… What exactly she was about to do with him, she didn’t know yet, but not knowing his name at this stage was downright rude. She wrote a short message.

_Feyre: I don’t know where to ring. Can u open, plz_

Seconds later the door buzzed and Feyre pushed it open. A short flight of stairs up, Rhys was waiting in the open doorway. She almost ran up the stairs.

“Hey,” she croaked out, her heart suddenly in her throat.

He stepped aside to let her in and closed the door, before slinging an arm around her waist and placing a small kiss on her cheek in greeting. He was certainly not shy today. Those small touches were all it took for her to burn up with desire anew. Burn like tinder, fast and hot. Feyre smiled a secret smile at the pun.

“Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred. “Do you want a room tour first before you nap?”

“First I want to know what your last name is, before not knowing gets any more embarrassing,” she confessed, shame making her cheeks burn. Or maybe it had been that little peck?

Rhys smiled at her fondly. “It’s Nash. Come to think of it, I don’t know yours either.”

“Archeron. Feyre Archeron. No middle name,” she supplied.

“You are kidding!” Rhys’ eyes grew impossibly wide.

“What? Because I don’t have a middle name? Not everyone’s got a middle name.” Feyre scowled, slightly irritated at his reaction.

“No. Your last name. It contains archer.” His dazzling smile almost threatened to blind her.

“So?” She still didn’t understand what he was getting at.

“My name. Nash derives from Nushaba, one of the names for the star Gamma2Sagittarii..”

“Sagittarri?” What does that -”  Realization hit her then. “Sagittari. Like in the Sagittarius constellation?” _The archer._ She huffed an incredulous laugh.

Rhys’ hands came to rest on her hips and he pulled her slightly closer. For a moment, she thought he would pick up from where they left things yesterday, but he merely rested his forehead against hers.

“Hhhm. Nash is the arrowhead,” he purred.

“Wow!” Feyre was dumbfounded. “What an incredible coincidence.”

“Or maybe, Feyre darling, it’s fate.” He pulled back enough to look into her eyes and wink at her, making hers roll in response. Yet, the color remained high on her cheeks.

“Do you want a room tour?” he asked again, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“Sure.”

She shrugged off her jacket and he hung it on a peg in the hallway, before showing her around. Rhys’ apartment was really nice and rather big, considering he lived alone. It was a 2 room apartment with a huge kitchen - the pictures hadn’t done it justice - and an almost lavish bathroom. Rhys skipped the bedroom, probably not wanting to push his luck, and led her into the living room instead.

Feyre’s breath caught. Bookshelves took up almost half of the room’s wall space, tightly packed with books in every size and color. She approached the shelves and ran a finger over the spines, making out titles. Some of them she knew, she also quickly found the books by her favorite authors and some others that seemes interesting. She turned to Rhys with shining eyes to find him observing her with a little smile on his lips.

“You’re welcome to borrow any book you like,” he offered.

Feyre turned back to the books, sighing longingly. “Just how many books do you have in here?” she breathed enraptured, trying to make a quick mental calculation.

“In here?” Rhys shrugged. “Around 500 I’d say. There are more in the bedroom.”

“Is that an elaborate trick to get me into bed?” Feyre teased. Rhys donned his usual cocky smirk.

“Seeing as you came to take a nap, I’d say I don’t need tricks for that.”

She laughed and he fell right in, but they were suddenly both feeling shy. Feyre lingered at the bookshelf and Rhys didn’t make any attempt to move closer, instead he rubbed his neck and glanced around the room.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

“Water would be nice,” she said softly. She wasn’t thirsty, but she didn’t know how else to respond.

“Coming right up. Make yourself comfortable.” With that, he left her alone.

Eyeing the rest of the living room, Feyre found that she liked Rhys’ style. Right under one window, a desk was tucked in between a bookshelf on the right and a large TV on the left. On the opposite wall sat a comfortable looking couch, Feyre now sat down on. _Yep, comfy_. To her right was a small table, big enough for two. It was warm and cozy, lots of wood and earthen colors, interspersed with an occasional flash of red, like the blanket on the couch or the candles on the coffee table. Feyre was surprised how much she instantly felt at home.

Rhys came back, carrying a large pitcher of water and two glasses. She took the glasses from him and he shot her a grateful smile, filled up both glasses and set the pitcher down on the little coffee table, before settling on the couch next to her.

“Cheers.” He raised his glass to hers and they clinked.

What followed was awkward silence. Feyre sipped her water, conscious of Rhys sitting next to her. Not quite touching, but close enough for her to feel his body heat. _What to do know_. When she had made the decision to take up his offer – which probably had been a joke rather than a proposition – she hadn’t really thought about how things would enfold. She had just acted on her urge to see him. Rhys thought she was here for a nap. Well, she _was_ tired and a nap sounded lovely, especially when he was offering his shoulder as pillow. Ogling his torso from behind her glass, she wouldn’t mind pressing her face against his broad chest, breathing in more of his irresistible scent. Heat flared up in her cheeks. _Cauldron boil and fry her_ , there was no way she could sleep near him, let alone _sleep on him,_ when she was that turned on just sitting next to him without touching. She took another gulp of water, willing her hands and mouth to do something.

Guessing at where her mind had wandered, Rhys set down his own glass and rubbed the back of his neck again.

“So you couldn’t sleep?” he inquired, looking anywhere but at her.

“Yeah,” was all she replied.

Rhys watched her out of the corner of his eyes. “Been dreaming about me, have you?” he jested.

She just shot him a glare, not deigning to answer. He knew exactly that she had, she had admitted to that earlier by phone. The prick only wanted to hear her say it our loud. But she couldn’t. Not without spilling the beans on how much he affected her. But her face betrayed her emotions, anyways. While she kept glaring at him, her cheeks grew impossibly warm and were probably glowing red like a traffic light. He shifted on the couch, turning his body towards her.

“Pray tell, darling, how shall I take responsibility for keeping you awake?” He smirked, but she could tell his body was tense and his eyes flickered between her eyes and her mouth. He was just as nervous as her. Slowly, she set down her glass and turned to face him fully.

“I’d like to make use of your offer.” He cocked his head in question. Feyre swallowed. “Your shoulder,” she clarified. “I’d like to take a nap on your shoulder. If I can’t sleep dreaming about you, maybe I can with you close. Because like that, there’s no need to wish you were there.” She had whispered the last words so quietly, she wasn’t sure he had heard them, but judging from the way his eyes lit up and his ears and neck turned red, he must have.

“Okay,” he mumbled, leaned back onto the couch until he was lying with his head against the armrest and opened his arms for her.

Bracing herself, Feyre made to lie down next to him and snuggled closer, aligning her body with his and placing her head was on his shoulder. The arm, whose shoulder she was resting against, came around her, gently hugging her to him and pulling her a bit closer. Feyre had expected to burst into flames at his touch – well she kind of did – but mostly it just felt comfortable. Inexplicably, it felt right. Less sexual tension than she had feared.

“You comfortable?” He murmured against the top of her head.

She hummed in response and pressed her face against his chest, breathing in this intoxicating, yet calming scent that had tortured her the whole night, if only because of the warm male body it belonged to hadn't been in bed with her. Not like now. Rhys took this as a yes and began to run his fingers through her long, unbound strands of hair. She hadn't bothered doing anything with her hair today and he seemed to like playing with it enough that Feyre was glad she hadn't. His touch was soothing. One arm tucked in between them, Feyre reached out and let the other hand roam over his chest. She could feel Rhys stiffen under her touch, so she stopped her roaming and instead placed her hand flat over where his heart was pounding hard against his ribcage. She smiled a little smile against his chest, content that she was not the only one feeling the effects of their proximity. Rhys placed his free hand over hers and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

“Can you sleep like this?” he asked in a husky voice.

“I think so.” She didn't look up, afraid that if their faces got any closer, she wouldn't be able to withstand the magnetic pull his lips seemed to have towards hers.

“Mind if I read while you sleep?”

“No, of course not.”

Rhys let go of her hand and reached towards the coffee table for the book that was sitting there. They shuffled a bit to get comfortable again and settled back into their earlier positions.

“Sleep well, darling,” Rhys said, placing another kiss on her head.

With a content sigh and her heart beating just a little faster than usual, Feyre snuggled into Rhys’ chest and closed her eyes.

☽✴☾

Feyre woke with a start when she felt a body shift beside hers. Not just any body. _Rhysand,_ she remembered, her eyes flying open. She had really managed to fall asleep on him. _What time is it?_ Peering out of the window, she could see that it was still light outside, which meant that it was still before 4 pm. Rhys shifted again and she carefully raised herself into a sitting position to look at him. He had fallen asleep, too, his book discarded on the floor. He looked completely defenseless, his mouth hanging slightly open and his cheeks pink with sleep. Or heat. _Cauldron_ , it was hot. Feyre could feel a thin sheet of perspiration coating her back.

Rhys stirred once more and turned his head, flexing his arms as if to hug her closer. Feeling her absence, he woke up, looking momentarily confused to find her sitting up instead of being in his arms. Then a sleepy smile spread on his face.

“You look adorable,” he said without preamble. Feyre huffed a small laugh. Bed hair and a sweaty face usually didn’t fall under her definition of adorable.

“So do you,” she replied. “It’s really hot.”

“Why thank you, darling,” he purred, his eyes drifting close again.

“No I mean in here. It’s really hot. And you’re practically a furnace.”

Rhys tore open his eyes and blinked at her a few times, as if he was trying to make sense of her words. Feyre clamped her lips shut, shaking with suppressed laughter. Half asleep Rhysand was truly a sight to behold.

“Your cheeks are all pink. Aren’t you hot?” Feyre shrugged out of her wool cardigan and threw it behind her on the couch.

Slowly, Rhys came to his senses and raised himself to a sitting position. Running a hand through his hair from the back to his front, it was left sticking up in a line at the top of his head. With the red splotches on his face and his hair sticking up like this, he looked like a cockatoo. Feyre burst into giggles. Rhys frowned at her outburst, finally awake.

“What?” His furrowed brow only added to the cockatoo lock. Still giggling, Feyre reached out a hand and smoothed back his hair.

“Who’s being adorable, hmm?” she teased.

Rhys muttered something under his breath and pulled his sweater off. For a moment, the tee he wore underneath got hitched up, exposing a tan and well-muscled stomach. Feyre couldn’t help but stare. Letting her eyes wander over his body, she noticed that on his chest level, something dark was shimmering through the white tee. Tattoos, she realized. When he had finally rid himself of his sweater and angled his body to throw it all the way across the room onto his desk chair, she could actually catch a glimpse of them, courtesy of the low V-cut of his tee. Noticing her stare, he cocked his head and gave a little amused smirk.

“You have tattoos.” Talk about stating the obvious. Feyre was still staring at his chest, trying to make them out through the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah. I got them when I was around 18.” For some reason Rhys seemed wary.

“Can I see?” Feyre was genuinely interested. Rhys’ face instantly turned into a smirk again.

“Darling, if you want me to take my clothes off, all you need is to ask.”

Feyre didn’t deign to answer, instead she just looked at him and he chuckled, slightly pulling the collar aside to reveal a part of the tattoo, or rather tattoos, that seemed to cover his most of his pectoral and shoulder. They were beautiful. Intricate, geometrical patterns that somehow snagged at her memory, only she couldn’t place where she might have seen them before. With her brow creased in concentration, she leaned closer and traced a finger over one pattern that called out to her in particular. Rhys tensed at her touch, but she was too engrossed with trailing the lines of that one section that almost looked floral. _Like vines and a flower bud._ Feyre gasped.

“Those are Illyrian tattoos!” she exclaimed, staring at them in disbelief.

“How do you know?” Rhys sounded astonished. Feyre still traced the patterns, trying to decipher the meaning.

“Tribal arts is my specialization.” She finally looked up and gave him an excited smile. “My minor is cultural anthropology, so I specialize in religious arts, with focus on Prythian’s native tribes. That’s one of the reasons I chose Velaris U. I got admitted for a few grad-programs actually, but I came here, because there are so many indigenous tribes living in this part of the country and there is this professor here, who is really famous in the field of tribal arts.” Feyre laughed softly. “He’s actually got a fascination with tattoos, so that’s what most of his lectures are about. He has this wicked tattoo on half of his face and neck. Probably further down too, though it didn’t seem polite to ask. But I think his tattoo is Fae, not Illyrian.” She fixed her eyes back on his tattoos, shamelessly nudging at his hand to make him reveal more of them.

“Do you mean Rowan?” Rhys asked. Feyre’s head snapped back up.

“You know Professor Whitethorn?” she asked, dumbfounded. _Please don’t let them be close friends_ , she prayed. Her potential boyfriend being friends with her professor would be really awkward.

“I know his wife. Aelin. We’re loosely acquainted, she is as much of a history nerd as I am, but she’s doing her PhD in political science. That woman will probably end up being president in a few years.” He shook his head, smiling. “She’s terrifying. And a menace. Anyways, I talked to Rowan on a few occasions, mostly about tattoos. He told me, he tattooed Aelin’s back with only traditional tools, imitating the original process.”

Feyre squinted her eyes at him.

“I didn’t know that. I hope he took a video.” Based on what she knew about Professor Whitethorn, he probably had. He was meticulous in his work. There was no way he wouldn’t document something like this for further research. She really needed to get her hands on that video. Speaking of hands, she still had hers on Rhys. She traced a little whorl at the base of his shoulder.

“How come you have Illyrian tattoos?” she asked.

“My mother was Illyrian.” _T_ _hat explained his beautiful black hair_ , she thought. _And the tan complexion in the middle of November._ “I got them mostly for her, though I had to complete the Blood Rite, an initiation ritual, first, before I was allowed to get them.”

“What was it?” Feyre stopped her inspection to face him.

“You are led into the woods with nothing but a knife and have to make your way back to the camp. It usually takes place around the time you turn 18, so for me it was in winter. I guess they took pity on me, because I was only 3 days away from the camp.” He gave her a feral little smile that made a tingling sensation run down her spine.

“And then you were allowed the tattoos?”

He nodded. “Took a few days. They inked them the traditional way, with a wooden needle and hammer.”

Feyre stared at Rhys chest, trying to fathom the skill needed to ink all this intricate lines and curves with such perfection. Or the endurance it needed to have them inked. Deep in thought, she absentmindedly started brushing her fingers over Rhys’ skin again. She really wanted to know what each symbol meant, what message they conveyed in the formation they bloomed on Rhys’ skin. Maybe he would let her take pictures? It would be great material for her next paper.

Pondering how to best ask him to strip, so she could take pictures of his naked torso without eliciting one of his usual flirty quips, she noticed that she was still touching – fondling really – said torso. Rhys had gone very still, although she could feel him trembling slightly every time her fingers brushed over his skin. His warm and surprisingly soft skin. That stretched over nicely defined pectorals and broad shoulders. Feyre placed her hand flat against his chest, close to where his heart was. She could feel it beating quickly, more so than it had before. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

Daring to raise her eyes to his, she found them glazed over, his lips slightly parted. With his cheeks still flushed and his sleep-mussed hair, he looked irresistible. Feyre couldn’t fight it any longer. She slid her hand from his chest to the back of his neck and, cradling the nape of his neck, leaned forward to steal a kiss from his lips.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Rhys are getting closer, both emotionally and physically.  
> ***smut warning***

A low sound, like a groan, escaped from the back of Rhys’ throat as their lips touched and he tugged her closer until she sat in his lap, one hand buried in her hair, the other holding her by the waist.

The kiss turned heated in a matter of seconds. Feyre let last night’s frustration and desperation seep into her kisses, making them greedy and demanding and bruising, while her hands gripped and tugged at the silky locks of his raven hair. Rhys kissed her back with equal fervor, though his hands remained glued to her hip and in her hair.

He slowly settled back against the armrest, so Feyre ended up lying on top of him, still kissing. Feeling his hard, lean body underneath hers, she pressed herself flush against him, eliciting another groan. She had never heard anything quite so sexy.

They spent some time kissing, Feyre ending up under him at some point – not that she minded terribly. Neither did she mind his mouth starting to wander, pressing hot kisses to her cheek, then her jaw, nibbling at her earlobe in a way that made the fire in her belly burn hotter and sweeter than it had last night, before focusing on her neck for a good long, torturous while.

As much as she loved his ministrations to her neck, she hoped he wouldn't leave any love bites. Feyre wasn't too keen on sporting hickeys like some horny teenager, even if she was certainly behaving like one right now. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this turned on making out with a guy on his couch, still fully clothed. Feyre was greedy and impatient when it came to sex. Usually, she would be naked by now, taking what she wanted and needed from the guy and be over with it. But kissing and touching the way they were was thrilling and exciting. Working his way back up to her left ear, Rhys own neck was left in kissable reach. So Feyre finally did what she had wanted to yesterday, when they had hugged goodbye: she pressed her face against his neck and breathed him in, before she started kissing and sucking at it. Rhys stilled and moaned. She could have died for that sound alone and for the fact that she had made him produce it.

“Feyre” he groaned, when she bit him softly.

His hips snapped into her body in response. She could feel the length of him hard against her hip. Her core turned molten. Almost out of instinct, she began moving against him, rubbing her hip along his hardness in a primal rhythm, coaxing another groan from him.

“ _Fuck_ , Feyre.” He laughed a breathy laugh against her neck.

“We can arrange that,” she answered in a sultry voice she hadn’t known she was capable of. Everything about him made her lose all reason, the measure of all things. All Feyre could think of, all that she wanted was this touch, the feel of his tongue and lips on hers, on her body. Rhys raised his eyes, wild promise in his gaze, and crushed his lips to hers.  Feyre shifted, parting her legs and guiding him with her thighs, so he could settle between them. She could feel him hesitate for a moment, but when she ripped her lips from his and moved to his neck again, grazing her teeth over the tender skin, his restrain snapped and he pressed his hard bulge against the throbbing ache between her legs. Feyre gasped at the sensation.

They shamelessly started grinded against each other, every hump of his groin against hers taking the edge of that delicious ache and building it up the same time. _More, more, more_. Feyre let her hands dive clean under his tee and grabbed at his waist, his back, urging him to press harder. Rhys gripped her by her ass, lifting her hips slightly and settling more snugly between her thighs. The new angle had him hit her sweet spot just right. She threw her head back, consequently releasing Rhys’ lips as she did, and her eyelids fluttered close. Feyre was certain she would be able to finish just by dry-humping.

Denied of access to her mouth, Rhys started working down her neck towards her cleavage, peppering small biting kisses to where the tops of her breasts were not covered by the cloth of her shirt. Encouraged by her own roaming of his back, he slipped one hand under her shirt, brushing it over her stomach and sides and pressing little circles into her skin. Eyes still closed, Feyre concentrated solely on his touch. She desperately wanted their clothes off and her needs taken care of, but at the same time she savored every little contact of his fingers and lips on her naked skin, gasping and moaning without control whenever he found a particular sensitive spot, or rubbed against her core just right. She was losing it entirely, drowning in the sensations.

The little noses she made egged him on; the rhythm of his movement turning more and more frantic and his kisses wilder. Rhys’ hands came up to cup her breast under her shirt, a single finger probing along the top edge of her bra cup and, when she showed no indication of refusal, slipping it between the bra and her skin and lightly brushing over her nipple.

A violent jolt went through her core. Feyre let out a whimper and felt him smile against her skin. _Mother above_ , she wanted that mouth on where his finger just had been, wanted it on that throbbing bundle of nerves between her legs…

“Rhys,” she moaned. “Please stop.”

She could feel him stiffen and pull away, his hands stopping dead on where they were placed on her breast and ribcage. Opening her eyes, she saw him searching her face for any signs of alarm, his own wary. Putting her palm against his chest and pressing gently, but firmly, Feyre indicated for him to move away from her, so she could sit up. Rhys followed her unspoken command immediately, although she could see the confusion on his face. And hurt. Her heart clenched at that sight.

“Sorry, I just… I just need a moment.”

He nodded, not daring to move, concern and confusion etched into the lines of his beautiful face. Feyre placed a hand over her pounding heart and willed it to calm down, taking deep breaths. Eyes closed, she tried to gather the scraps of her self-restraint he had so easily shredded through. Or maybe she had. If she was being honest, she had very little self-restraint to begin with.

“Feyre, are you alright?” Rhys was getting clearly worried now.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Concern had overtaken confusion, yet, he still didn’t dare move or touch her.

“I’m good. Wow, that got wild pretty quickly,” she said, still breathing heavily.

She gave him a little smile. Rhys attempted a smirk, but it wasn’t convincing. Her own smile faltered. She understood perfectly. She had been leading him on since last night and now she had called stop on him for no apparent reason. _How to explain_? She took another deep breath, fumbling for words. She tried to speak, but her mouth was just too dry. Desperate, she reached for her water.

“I’m sorry if I took it too far,” Rhys finally said when he could no longer stand the silence.

“No! Cauldron, no! There’s nothing you have to apologize for!” For him to even think he did something wrong, when it had been her that initiated every physical contact so far, her touching and kissing him first every time, practically encouraged him to get on top of her…

“It is me. I – “ Feyre closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say.

“I really want to sleep with you!”

“Oh!” Rhys’ mouth formed a perfect little round and his brow was furrowed in confusion. “But then, why – “

“I’m also very afraid of sleeping with you.” she blurted out, interrupting him.

He blinked like an owl. “Why?”

Feyre brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and averted her gaze. She felt like she was standing at the end of a cliff, about to jump off. Closing her eyes, she took the plunge.

“I really like you and I’m afraid, that if we sleep together right now, we’ll probably fuck up whatever this is between us. Because I’m really scared about my feelings and about how we are already advancing at lightning speed and because sex is kind of like my coping mechanism, but I don’t want it to be like that with you, but also, I just really want to sleep with you, because you really turn me on.”

The words just came rushing out of her, without pause and comma.

“But then I’m scared we’ll start this relationship purely on a sexual compatibility and then after a few months I’ll get bored of sleeping with you and then find there is nothing _but_ the sex, so I’d rather get to know you first and – “

Rhys cut off her rambling by gently cupping her face with both of his hands.

“You like me?” he asked softly, his voice laced with emotion. Feyre blushed a furious red.

“Ah, yeah. Yeah I think so.”

“And you are afraid of fucking it up by… fucking.” Rhys kept his face neutral, but she could see a spark of amusement glinting in his eyes and the corners of his lips were twitching. Feyre scowled at him. Rhys’ lips twitched harder.

“Then we just take it slow,” he declared, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Because I really like you, too. Let’s try not to fuck it up by fu – “

“Don’t you dare say that again!” Feyre glowered. Rhys clamped his lips shut, still trying not to laugh.      

“There is just one problem with taking it slow,” Feyre remarked. Rhys raised an eyebrow in question. “I have absolutely no self-restraint when it comes to you,” she whispered, dead-serious.

Rhys finally broke. He threw his head back and barked in laughter, pulling her into a bear hug.

“Then I’ll just have to have enough self-restraint for the both of us,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

Feyre buried her face against his shoulder and let herself be engulfed by his arms and scent. Only then it hit her that she had confessed to liking him. And Rhys had admitted to liking her, too. _Cauldron boil her._ She was very glad he couldn’t see her burning face. When Rhys loosened his hold on her a few minutes later, it was almost back to normal. Almost.

☽✴☾

Feyre brushed some black strands out of Rhys’ face and observed him, contemplating. They had resumed their talk about less dangerous topics, trading stories about their childhood and school years. At some point during the talk, Rhys’ decided to lay down, admitting he hadn’t slept well either with a little embarrassed smile. That was why his head currently rested in Feyre’s lap and he was enjoying her constant caress of it with the satisfaction of a cat, eyes closed and a content smile gracing his lips. She could have sworn she had even heard him purring earlier.

Before, shortly after she had calmed down to enough to face him normally again, he had excused himself to go to the bathroom, no doubt taking care of some _pressing_ matters. She wished she could do the same, but she couldn’t just go to her date’s? love interest’s? potential future boyfriend’s? bathroom and get herself off. Even when her matters were just as pressing, just not in the literal sense. When she had gone to powder her nose earlier, she had noticed just how _soaked_ her underwear had become by their earlier make-out session. Having to walk around with sodden panties was no pleasure.

Feyre let out a big sigh and Rhys lazily opened one eye, looking up at her, assessing her mood. He did that as often as she did and Feyre remembered him telling her yesterday, that he liked watching people as well. It seemed that his frequent observation of people enabled him to read people with uncanny accuracy and maybe that’s why he could tell that right now there was still something bothering her. He opened his other eye as well and looked up at her in silent question. But Feyre shook her head and bend down to press a kiss to his forehead, earning her a faint blush in return. Although this was probably not because of her chaste kiss, but due to the circumstance that she couldn’t avoid pressing her breasts against him bending down. She half expected a lewd comment on it, but he merely adjusted his pose and closed his eyes again. Yet, despite his ostensible relaxed state and closed eyes, she could feel he was more alert. And that she hadn’t fooled him. Rhys was merely waiting until she was ready to come forward with what was bothering her.

Feyre was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of consideration he showed towards her. And frankly, it was intimidating. Considering the short amount of time they had known each other, she wouldn’t say that she was in love with him, but what she felt towards Rhysand came pretty damn close. Then again, she had little to no clue to what love really was.

She used to think that passion, lust and excitement were what love was all about. The hotter and fiercer those emotions burned, the more in love you were. She had thought that when you burn so hot, feel so deep, even when those emotions aren’t pleasant, but instead made up mostly of angst, fear and constant worry, you must love with greater intensity. That is why she had mistaken the dizzying rush of emotions she had held towards Tamlin for love. Their relationship had been a rollercoaster ride, highs chasing lows chasing highs, leaving her exhausted and drained, but _feeling_. She had never been attuned to her own feelings and needs in the first place, instead she had always numbed them, shoving them deep down. That their relationship had caused her to be out of touch with herself even more, only occurred to her now.

But with Rhys, things were different; she felt happy and calm mostly, and it had felt that way since the beginning. Their minds worked the same and she felt like they had known each other for ages because of it. It was almost like they could read each other’s mind. Being with him was like being with a close friend, only one she felt a sexual compulsion towards, a really strong one. Being with him was easy as breathing, it was comfortable. So comfortable in fact, that she had let him past her defenses and allowed him glimpses of her mind and heart nobody had ever been granted. Yet, it made her feel vulnerable to be so exposed to be unable to keep him away, both emotionally and physically. And for all her life, feeling vulnerable was the one thing she had avoided being at all costs.

However, she was trying work on herself, trying to change, to open up. And, therefore she was both struggling with letting Rhys closer and, at the same time, putting enough distance between them so he couldn’t hurt her too much. Not that he would do that intentionally. By now, Feyre was convinced that he was one of the kindest, most wonderful people she had ever met.

Then again, she was not sure she was ready for another relationship, be it with him or anyone. She wasn’t sure she could trust herself to not repeat her mistakes again. What if they started dating, and she again ignored all the warning signs? Maybe she was already doing it right now? Or worse, what if they started a sexual relationship and she would repeat her usual pattern, focusing only on the physical pleasures instead of the emotional ones? She really wanted to take her time getting to know him, taking one step at a time, but she was not sure how to go about it.

Rhys really must really be able to read her mind, she decided, because he suddenly asked, “I know we said, we would take this slow, but what does taking it slow mean to you?” He opened his eyes and looked up at her. Feyre opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. She had no answer to that. Feeling her discomfort, Rhys sat up and put some distance between them. That much he had already learned about her. She felt a sudden rush of affection towards him, her chest growing warm and fuzzy.

Scooting closer, she leaned her head against his shoulder, showing him that she was alright with their proximity, that it didn’t scare her. His arms came around her and Rhys rested his chin on top of her head. Her eyes shuttered close

“I am afraid to get hurt,” she choked out. Rhys stiffened, but waited for her to continue. “Every relationship - “she stumbled over the word and took a deep breath. “Every single one so far has been a disaster.” She pulled away and looked up to him.

“Because I couldn’t be honest with myself or them. I’m trying to work on it though.” Rhys face grew solemn, but he nodded. Feyre loosened a breath and took his hand, clasping it between hers and looking down at them. “Truth is, I have some issues regarding intimacy. Not the physical kind, but emotional. I find it hard to let people close. Except for you, apparently.” She huffed a little laugh and shrugged. “That scares me a bit.”

Rhys slowly brought their hands up and to his face, eyes never leaving hers, and brushed a feather-light kiss over her knuckles, his movements slow enough for Feyre to withdraw if she needed to.

“I’m sorry. But I can’t say I’m not happy to know I’m somehow special to you.” Turning her hand over, he planted a soft kiss onto her palm, again assessing her carefully while he did so, making sure she wasn’t uncomfortable with his touch. Feyre blushed and squirmed slightly, but she didn’t withdraw her hand.

“Ah, so you're not uncomfortable with me touching you, but with what I said. Too direct?” She had been right, he really was observant.

“No, just really straightforward,” she mumbled. Rhys eyes softened and he brushed a knuckle over her cheek.

“I want you to tell me, if I’m getting too pushy. I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything by me. You set the pace. You’re in control. But I need you to be honest with me. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you think, because you fear how I might react. And I promise you, I’ll do the same.”

Feyre nodded. Honesty. That was what nobody had ever offered to her before. And she had never given it to anyone. Not even herself. But she would try, starting now.

“I like you. I don’t know what kind of like exactly, but I enjoy being near you and spending time with you. But I’m also really attracted to you in a physical sense. But I don’t want it to be just meaningless sex between us. I’d like to know you better before... ”

“Before?” Rhys squeezed her hands encouragingly.

“Before this becomes… more. I want to make sure… that we are compatible, that we are right for each other before we commit to any kind of serious relationship.” _Mother above_ , she had said it.

Rhys was silent for a while, brow slightly furrowed while he was staring out the window, but still clasping her hand tightly. True to his word, he hadn’t exploded on her or gotten angry, but his silence unnerved Feyre no less. Eventually, he turned to face her again, giving her a weak smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Feyre didn’t know whether she should be relieved or disappointed. She had expected… _What had she expected?_

“If that is what you want, okay. I could tell you that I am crazy about you, that I want nothing more than to kiss you senseless right this very moment, that I think you are the most beautiful, clever, intelligent, enchanting woman I’ve ever come across in my life and that I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck whenever you look at me or smile at me. That I want you completely, want you in every way I can think of, but I’m pretty sure that would make you run for the hills. So, okay. Let’s get to know each other better first.”

Feyre didn’t know what to say. Or how to feel. Admitting to liking her was one thing, but this had practically been a love confession. _How was she supposed to react to that? Did he expect her to reply?_ She felt cornered immediately and resisted her urge to run. Feyre nodded stiffly and pulled her hand from his, placing them in her lap and starting to toy with a hair tie that she kept around her wrist.

“But does going slow entails dating? Like being in a relationship? Or are we just meeting up as friends?” He _was_ cornering her now. Feyre wound her hair tie around one finger, then another.

“I don’t want to rush things,” she said quietly. “Let’s be friends first and see how we get along. I don’t want this to be another failed relationship.” She was looking anywhere but at him. She could feel that he was disappointed by her answer.

“Okay, sure.”

Feyre heard him shift, but didn’t dare look. Their little happy bubble had burst and she no longer felt comfortable. Maybe it was time to go home, put some distance between them, so she could calm down and think. But before she had the chance to make up any excuse, Rhys spoke again.

“But you know, to be honest, I’m not sure I can manage being just friends. I cannot stop feeling attracted to you. I can manage to hold back with touching and kissing and stuff, but I cannot hold back my feelings the same way.”

She could feel his gaze on her like a welding torch. Feyre shifting uncomfortably on her end of the couch under its intensity.

“Rhys,” she whispered almost inaudible. “You’re being kind of pushy.”

“Oh.” True to his words, he stopped. “I guess I am, aren’t I? I’m sorry.”

It was quiet for a while, before Rhys got up and declared he would make some tea, probably to give them both a little space. Feyre exhaled in relief and brought her knees up to sit in a little ball on the couch the moment he had left the room. _What in the Cauldron’s bubbling contents was wrong with her? What was she so damn afraid of?_ She liked him, he liked her, and he wanted a steady relationship with her, not some sex-friends shit or one-night stand. She was fucking it up royally. _Without us even fucking_ , she added bitterly.

Feyre shook her head in exasperation and took a deep breath. She had overreacted. His confession, that he was feeling so strongly for her, had thrown her off her game, so she had clammed up again. She needed to learn not to do that, or else they wouldn’t work out. Not because they were too different in their beliefs and values - whom was she kidding, they were a perfect match, two sides of the same coin - but because the was being an idiot.

The door creaked open and in came Rhys, carrying two mugs of tea. She uncoiled her feet and reached out for one of the mugs, but set it down on the table and turned to him instead.

“I’m sorry,” she started, plucking his own mug out of his hands, too, so she could snuggle into his arms. Rhys gave a little start, but tentatively encircled her with her arms.

_There_. Right there in his arms, her head against his shoulder and his cheek on her hair, this was where she was feeling comfortable and safe. There was no need to wait a certain amount of time, because they only had met earlier this week, no need to overthink every detail in regards of whether they matched or if things would eventually fall apart. Right there, listening to her instincts as Alis told her to do, she felt that this man was right for her.

“I was a bit overwhelmed earlier, sorry. You were a bit intense and it made me uncomfortable,” she mumbled against his chest. She could feel the tension leaving his body and he hugged her a bit closer.

“I’m sorry I pushed you. I should have noticed you were uncomfortable,” he apologized in return and pressed a little kiss onto her hair. Feyre pressed her cheek against his chest.

“You were not lying, when you said you were clinging to me yesterday,” she joked, attempting to lift the mood. She could feel the laughter rumble in his chest.

“What can I say. I guess, I just really want to call you my girlfriend, you know?”

Feyre drew back to peer up to his face. He smiled sheepishly, but she could see that he was nervous about the underlying question he had thrown her way. Narrowing her eyes at him, Feyre stared at Rhys for a while, dragging out her answer on purpose. She wanted to make him sweat for a bit. It worked, his smile started cracking and his body grew tense again. Feyre let out a big faux sigh, shaking her head as if in exasperation. Rhys immediately looked alarmed.

“Seems like I got no choice then.”

And before Rhys could register what she had just said, Feyre pressed a lingering kiss to her boyfriend’s lips.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> +++ slight smut warning +++

Although they were official now, Feyre was still dead set on taking things slow - at least in the physical department. Or that was what she kept telling herself.

After she had released his lips and the information that Feyre had agreed to be his girlfriend had finally made it through his thick skull, Rhys had smiled the most beautiful, broadest smile she had ever seen. The sight alone had given her goosebumps. Since then they hadn't stopped kissing and touching, although it didn't turn near as heated as it had been before. During the little pauses when they weren’t kissing, Feyre whispered her fears and doubts to him, and Rhys listened quietly and made to kiss them away. He didn’t attempt to make bold promises to her, like that all would be well, or he would take care of everything, but somehow that was more reassuring than if he had.

Sighing a content little sigh, Ferye pressed a kiss to one of Rhys tattoos from where she lay sprawled on his chest, her body half on top of his. Rhys responded with a throaty hum that sounded suspiciously sleepy. Feyre was getting sleepy herself, the excitement of the last days and two short nights in a row taking their toll, now that she was relaxed and calm for once.

She only noticed that she had actually fallen asleep, when she woke to the sound of an alarm going off and Rhys giving a start.

“Shit!” he swore.

Feyre was nearly thrown off him when he got up at lightning speed and reached for his phone. Not an alarm, his ringtone, Feyre realized. Rhys picked up the call.

“Yeah? Uh.. right, sorry! I'll be right over.” Rhys paused to listen what the person on the other end was saying. It must have been something rude, because Rhys suddenly growled “Fuck you, Cass!” and hung up.

“Cass?” Feyre asked, stifling a yawn.

“My brother Cassian. I'm supposed to pick him and our other brother, Azriel, up and drive them to dinner, but I forgot.” He glanced over to her and a smile tugged at his lips. “I got distracted.”

Feyre perked up at his mention of brothers.

“I thought you said Mor was your only family?” She hadn’t heard him talking about brothers.

“Blood-related family, yes. Cassian and Azriel are my foster brothers. My mum took them in when we were children.” He was pacing around the room now, looking for the sweater he had discarded earlier and picking up his wallet and keys.

“I’m sorry darling, I have to head out right now,” he said, his voice muffled by the sweater he was in the middle of pulling over his head.

“No, it’s okay. I should probably head home anyways.” Feyre started looking for the cardigan she had discarded some time earlier this afternoon.

“You don’t have to. I’ll be only be gone for a bit.” Rhys had stopped his pacing to look at her. “You can stay. I mean, I want you to stay,” he added. “You can sleep some more, or grab a book.”

“But don’t you need to pick them up again later?”

“No, Mor will take them home, I just have to drive them. I can pick up some pizza on the way and we can watch a movie or something?”

Feyre didn’t need to think twice. The prospect of sitting alone at home was a dire one, when she could instead keep snuggling with Rhys - her handsome, sexy _boyfriend_ Rhys.

“Okay.” She settled back on the couch. Rhys left for a moment and came back with a soft wool blanket that he handed to her before bending over and kissing her brow softly.

“In case you need to keep warm, now that your furnace is gone.” Feyre giggled and pulled him down for a kiss.

“I’ll be quick,” he promised. And at that he left her and Feyre heard the front door click shut.

It was getting dark quickly, so she turned on the floor lamp that was standing beside the couch and wrapped the blanket around her. It smelled faintly of Rhys and she wondered, whether he slept using it. Lying back down on the couch, she felt heat rising into her cheeks. _Rhys_.

Feyre pulled the blanket closer around herself and recapitulated the last days. She had never expected this outcome when they had met for coffee on Wednesday. Some small part of her had hoped he would become her boyfriend, but that it happened so fast was mind-boggling. She was still worried that they were moving too fast, that things would go wrong at some point, but Rhys’ stark honesty had somewhat mollified her doubts. And if she was being honest, she wasn’t one to savor the slow burn anyways. She was a greedy one and impatient. Furthermore, she felt like she could trust him, especially seeing how much he trusted her. He even left her alone in his apartment when they barely knew each other. If she wanted, she could comfortably rob him of everything he owned. Feyre didn’t know whether that made him naive, or if his faith in her just ran so deep already. She hadn’t really given him much to work with in that regard. Only earlier, between their kisses and snuggles, she had told him point blank, that the moment she didn’t feel good about their relationship anymore, she would get the hell out and be gone in a flash. He had merely looked at her in earnest and asked her again for honesty, for her to confront him directly when she was unhappy or uncomfortable with anything he did. And then given her a kiss filled with so much tenderness and affection, that she had trouble not to blush remembering.

Overcome by emotion, Feyre hid her face in the pillows on the couch, but found this to be a grave mistake. It smelled like him. Everything smelled like him. She couldn’t believe it, but she missed him already. Hoping that time would pass faster when she slept, the closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep wrapped in Rhys’ scent.

☽✴☾

“Feyre,” Rhys called softly from the hallway, loud enough for her to hear if she was awake, but quiet enough not to wake her in case she was sleeping. Feyre had actually woken when she heard his key turn in the lock, hyper-aware of every sound in the foreign apartment, but she was curious about how he would react to finding her asleep on his couch. So she kept her eyes closed and did her best to appear to be sleeping. She heard the door to the living room open and then close again, but she couldn’t feel another presence in the room. _The pizza_ , she remembered. He had promised to pick up pizza on the way and was probably putting it away in the kitchen.

She was about to end her pretense, when she heard the door open again and Rhys approach on soft footsteps. The couch dipped as he sat down on the edge and softly called out again. No longer able to fake sleeping, Feyre blinked her eyes open to find Rhys looking down on her, a tender expression on his face.

“Hey,” he smiled and ran a knuckle over her cheek now that she was conscious and saw the touch coming. He hadn’t touched her when he thought she was asleep. Her heart swelled at how considerate he was. Or maybe traumatized, given he had been touched without consent before.

“Do you want to keep sleeping or have some pizza?”

Feyre sat up and smoothed a hand over her hair. She wished she had a brush. Spending the whole afternoon making out and napping on the couch had had disastrous effects on her long strands.

“I could eat,” Feyre answered, combing through her hair with her fingers. She needed to check whether her collapsible brush was still in her purse. Rhys’ gaze followed her fingers’ motion through her hair and he smirked.

“Need a brush, Feyre darling?” he purred.

“Do you have one?” she asked, wincing when her fingers got snagged by a particular nasty knot.

“Sure.” He sauntered off and Feyre scrambled to get up and follow. She found him in the bathroom, rummaging through a cupboard. Rhys pointed to the vanity, still rifling through the contents of the cupboard.

“I have a comb by the sink, but I should have a brush in here somewhere.”

Stepping over to the sink, Feyre eyed the comb. It would take ages to go through her almost waist-long hair with it, but she would manage.

“Aha!” Rhys exclaimed suddenly and Feyre turned around. Triumphant, Rhys brandished a hairbrush.

“I could have sworn someone as vain as you wouldn’t make do without a brush,” Feyre said, throwing meaningful glances to his once elaborately styled hair, that had fallen victim to her deft fingers. Rhys gasped in mock hurt, clutching at his chest. Feyre giggled walking over and made to grab the brush, but Rhys held it out of her reach, pouting like a petulant child. With a wicked little smile, Feyre raised herself on her tip-toes and sucked at the bottom lip that was jutting out. When Rhys lowered his hand to place it on her hip, as she had anticipated, she snatched the brush from him and broke away.

“Cheating” That’s cheating, darling,” Rhys yelled in indignation, but his eyes were shining with amusement.

Giggling again, Feyre shooed him out of the bathroom and turned to assess herself in the mirror. As she had feared, her hair was a mess. Working out the knots would take a while. Looking a bit more closely, she noticed her face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling. She looked happy. Disheveled, but happy. If she had any doubt about Rhys being good for her, it flew out of the window right there. Giving herself a little wink and a smile, she started on her hair.

☽✴☾

Feyre was munching on her third slice of pizza, while Rhys scanned his DVD shelf, pulling out DVDs from time to time and reading the titles out to her. They had a similar taste - who would have guessed - so finding a movie they haven’t both seen already was proving to be difficult. If they couldn’t find something in Rhys’ extensive DVD collection soon, they would need to check the internet for movies.

“What about Loopers? Have you seen that yet?” Rhys asked, eyeing the case. Feyre reached for her fourth slice.

“Don’t think so. Who’s in it?” she asked around a mouthful of pizza. In his earlier rush, Rhys had forgotten to ask what kind of pizza she liked, so he had gone with something he usually had. He had chosen well. Eggplants with minced meat and feta cheese. She needed to ask for the name of that pizza place.

“Bruce Willis, Emily Blunt and Jason Gordon - “

“Levitt? Let’s watch!”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Someone’s got a little a crush?” he asked.

“On Jason Gordon Levitt? Absolutely!”

The words were out before she could stop them. Feyre froze, waiting for his reaction. But Rhys only chuckled and bend down to start the DVD player. How stupid of her. She had expected him to react badly, because Tamlin always had, whenever she had mentioned fancying a certain actor, or singer, or basically telling him a human being other than him was objectively attractive.

Resuming her munching, she relaxed back onto the couch, waiting for Rhys to join her. He started the movie and came over, snatching a slice of pizza for himself before Feyre could inhale them all.

They watched in silence for a while, only interrupted by one or two enraptured sighs issued by Feyre. She couldn’t help herself. Whenever Levitt smirked that way of his, dimples flashing on his cheeks, her breath just escaped on its own, making a sweet sound. Okay, maybe she sighed more than twice. Though in this movie, he looked different from usual. So different, in fact, she almost hadn’t realized it was him. For the sake of the story, they had made him look more like a young Bruce Willis, complete with the strong, chiseled jaw and blue eyes. Really, it only made him somewhat more attractive. _And then that damn smirk!_

Feyre’s eyes widened in sudden realization and her head whipped around. Narrowing her eyes on Rhys, she stared. Noticing her shift of attention, Rhys looked at her and smirked, a dimple she hadn’t noticed so far deepening on his cheek. _Yep, definitely similar._ Seems like she had a type.

“You look similar. To Levitt I mean. Your smirk, that is,” she clarified. Rhys eyes twinkled dangerously.

“Does that mean you got crush on me, too?” His smirk turned infuriating.

“Well, duh,” she rolled her eyes and turned her eyes back on the screen. Rhys chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, tugging her closer and pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Glad to know you find me attractive, Feyre darling. Will you sigh every time now you lay eyes on me? I wouldn’t mind that. Not at all.”

Feyre snorted in response, but snuggled a bit closer. When the movie ended, they still sat huddled together, neither of them moving. 

“How did you like it?” Rhys asked, gently stroking her shoulder with his thumb. Her own thumb was imitating the motion on his chest, where her hand had come to rest at some point.

“Well enough. The little boy looks rather scary though. Wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark street at night. With or without psychic powers.”

Rhys chuckled and planted a kiss on the top of her hair. Deciding to mess with him a bit, Feyre sighed like she had during the movie

“What was that for?” Rhys asked, surprised.

“Replaying images of Jason Gordon Levitt in my head.”

Rhys stiffened and Feyre smirked.

“Wicked little thing,” he said affectionately and Feyre giggled. When she glanced up through her lashes, her head still leaning against his shoulder, she found him gazing at her adoringly.

And then they were suddenly kissing again. A rush went through Feyre, like electricity buzzing under her skin, and she parted her lips immediately to grant his tongue access, deepening the kiss. But the way her head was tilted back quickly became uncomfortable, so she crawled into his lap, straddling him, her lips never leaving his. Rhys’ hands came up to her waist while hers cupped his face, momentarily breaking away.

“I like you,” she whispered, gazing softly into those stunning pools of silver-flecked violet that were his eyes. She didn’t know why, but she felt the urgent need to tell him.

“I like you, too.”

Encouraged by her words, he leaned forward and pulled her into another kiss, initiating for the first time. Not a sweet, gentle peck to her lips, or the small kisses he had peppered to her cheeks and hair all day, but a deep, heated clash of tongues and teeth. When he bit at her bottom lip, her breathing hitched and she gave a little gasp. Rhys, ever so cautious, pulled away to see whether he had gone too far, but Feyre pulled him back, returning the favor, biting his lip and licking over the hurt. Rhys groaned into her mouth.

Eventually they pulled away, taking each other in. Rhys looked flushed, his lips swollen and red from kissing and Feyre was sure she didn’t look any different.

“It’s getting late,” she said.

He swallowed, smoothing a few hairs away from her face and cupping her cheek. Feyre leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. She didn’t want to leave.

“Stay?” he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes flew open. He really could read her mind, she was sure of it. Feyre stroked his cheekbones and leaned in for another kiss.

“Okay,” she whispered back against his lips.

Rhys swallowed and tightened his hold on her, pressing her flush against him while he settled deeper into the couch, sliding down so he could lean further back. Adjusting in his lap and moving up higher, Feyre molded her body to his, her breasts flattening against his chest. Rhys let out a choked sound from the back of his throat, like a strangled moan. Pressed close as they were, she could feel that he was already hard beneath her and she stifled a moan herself. Angling her head to the side, Feyre pushed her tongue deeper into his mouth at the same time she pushed her hips down on him. Rhys groaned and tore his lips from hers to bury his face in the crook of her neck, hands gripping her hips to hold her still for a few moments. Feyre ran a hand through the silky strands of his black hair, gently scraping his scalp with her fingernails. Rhys exhaled a shaky breath and nuzzled her neck with his nose.

“Fey,” he choked out and Feyre melted at his use of a nickname. “Taking it slow is really hard when you’re so… responsive.”

She knew she was being unfair. One moment she was pushing him away, only to tease him the very next and rile him up. A small voice in the back of her mind was telling her to stop, to take it slow like she had intended, but when Rhys’ soft lips pressed against her collarbone, all thoughts escaped her head. Rolling her hips against his hardened length again, she bend downwards to bite his earlobe, before she whispered into his ear.

“Your fault for being so irresistible.”

Rhys huffed a hoarse laugh, his hot breath fanning over the skin at her neck. Feyre tilted her head, exposing more of her neck in a silent offering. Rhys took it up, caressing the skin with his lips in a whisper of a kiss. Arousal was stirring low in her belly and her core turned molten.

“What is it that you want, Feyre?” he murmured, pressing a kiss just underneath her ear.

“I want you to touch me,” she whispered into his, biting down on his earlobe again and pulling at it slightly with her teeth. Rhys shuddered beneath her, his hips jolting to meet her core. Feyre gasped when the touch made the heat her belly stir and flicker like flames.

“Allow me then.”

And then he started devouring her neck in earnest. Feyre moaned and threw her head back, eyelids fluttering close. Leaning away from him a bit, she presented her chest to his raving mouth and Rhys was happy to oblige, moving down to her cleavage, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses in his wake. Still hesitant to touch her despite her explicit plea, he limited his hands to her waist and rib cage, so Feyre took his hands and guided them to her breasts. Rhys cupped both over her shirt, squeezing softly, and buried his face in the valley between them, moaning into her chest. Feyre gripped his hair and ground down on him again, eliciting another moan from the both of them.

When Rhys brushed his thumb over her breasts, pressing down on where her hardened nipples strained against the fabric of her bra and shirt, the sensation eliciting a throbbing response from her core, she could take it no longer. Gripping his hair tighter, she pulled his head away and crushed her lips to his, her tongue moving against his in the same undulating rhythm as her hips rolling against him.

“Bedroom,” she managed to press out, before locking their lips tight again. But Rhys caught her face in his hands and made her to pull back, his eyes boring into hers.

“Are you sure?” he asked a bit breathless, but clearly.

“Yes,” she breathed, grabbing his wrists to release her head and, when he did, moving in on his neck, leaving searing kisses on his tender flesh. Rhys didn’t hesitate any longer. Grabbing her by her thighs, he stood up from the couch. Feyre hastily wrapped her legs around his hips and held onto his shoulders, but didn’t cease her attention to his neck. She knew he was well muscled before, but when he carried her over to his bedroom, she could feel just _how_ well muscled he was. Tennis practice paid off, apparently. She was infinitely turned on. Holding her up with one arm, he opened his bedroom door with the other and carried her over the threshold. But instead of setting her on the bed, he stopped after a few steps and loosened his grip, letting her slide down to the ground slowly without letting go completely. Feyre looped her arms around his neck and they locked gazes.

“You sure you want this?” he asked again, his voice husky.

Feyre nodded. “I want you to touch me. Maybe not go all the way, but…” her voice trailed off, but he had understood. “Do you want to?” Feyre asked nervously. I had just occurred to her that she hadn’t bothered asking before. She really should have, considering his history.

Leaning down, he caught her lips with his again and his hands dove clean under her shirt, stroking the skin at the small of her back.

“Fey, you have no idea how much I want to,” he mumbled between kisses and gently nudged her towards his bed.

When her calves hit the bed frame, she broke away and sat down. Her eyes never leaving his, she moved herself further towards the middle of the bed, Rhys crawling onto it after her, making to kneel over her. Leaning back to lie down, Feyre stretched languidly, arching her back of the bed and held her arms out to him, smiling softly. Rhys moved into her open arms, carefully propping himself on an elbow to avoid crushing her with his weight and just looked at her, gently caressing her face while he took her in. Feyre reached up and pushed a few black locks that had fallen forwards out of his eyes and cupped his cheek, like he had done with her before. He was so damn beautiful. His eyes shone with desire and lust as he gazed into her eyes, but he waited. _For her_ , she realized,

So Feyre raised herself slightly, pressed her lips to his, and pulled him down with her into the swirling haze of passion.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** smut warning! ***  
> NSFW

They took their time kissing, slowly building back up the intensity and heat. Feyre let her hands slip under his tee shirt, roaming the broad expanse of his back and scratching lightly. Rhys breath caught in his throat and he pulled down the collar of her shirt and nipping at the soft skin over her heart. Growing impatient, Feyre tugged at Rhys’ tee shirt, hitching it up around his shoulders. Chuckling, Rhys raised himself on his knees and pulled the tee over his head. Illuminated by the light of the streetlamp that fell through the bedroom window, Feyre could catch a glimpse of the full expanse of his tattoos for the first time. It was too dark to make out all the details, but what she could see took her breath away. It was beautiful. Sitting up, she caressed the marked skin and trailed the swirling lines with her lips and tongue. Rhys’ moaned and fisted a hand in her hair, but didn’t interrupt.

Gripping the hem of her own shirt, Feyre tugged it over her head and threw it on the floor. She could feel more than see Rhys eyes roaming over her chest, now only covered by an  unspectacular black cotton bra. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back onto the mattress. Whatever hold he had on himself seemed to have slipped away by the sight of her boring underwear, because he now didn’t hesitate touching her stomach, running his hand up and down her sides and squeezing her breasts over the fabric, all the while kissing and sucking her lips, her neck, her chest. Yet, when he pulled her bra straps down, Rhys paused a second and looked to her, waiting for her approval. Feyre nodded, smiling up to him, and Rhys snaked a hand to her back to undo the clasp of her bra - only there wasn't one.

“What the-?”

The look on his face was priceless; Feyre couldn't help the breathy laughter that escaped her lips. Running his hand along the back of her bra, he searched again for the clasp that was not there. He looked so completely confused and desperate, that Feyre took mercy on him. Breathing another laugh, she brought her hands up to where the two cups of her bra met and unhooked the hidden front clasp. Pulling the cups away, she bared her full breasts for Rhys, observing closely how his face turned from confusion to marvel and a look she could only describe as reverence. Tentatively bringing up a hand, he cupped one breast and squeezed softly. Feyre’s eyelids fluttered close and she arched her back off the bed, pushing her breasts into his hand. She hadn’t realized just how much she had actually wanted him to touch them.

“ _Cauldron_ Feyre,” Rhys choked out, before he buried his face in her chest, squeezing with both hands now and shoving his nose in the valley between them. “You have no idea how much I love these.” He gave another squeeze to emphasize. Feyre’s fingers plunged into in his hair.

“Really? I had no idea,” she teased. “It’s not like you were staring at them during our first date.” Rhys growled against her skin and brushed his thumb over her right nipple, making her squirm. Heat pooled low in her belly and she knew she was likely dripping wet already.

“Your fault for wearing that damn shirt. I really wanted to do this,” he said and planted a kiss on the subtle skin of the inner curve of her right breast. “And this,” he added, nipping at her skin softly, this time closer towards the center of her breast, where his thumb was still occasionally brushing her nipple. He worked his way around in a circle, interchanging kisses and bites, albeit never moving towards the center of her breast, where she most wanted him. Feyre was almost delirious with want.

“And most of all, I wanted to rip down that shirt and do this,” he purred and finally sucked her pert nipple into his mouth. Feyre let out an unrestrained moan and tightened her grip on his silky locks. Flicking his tongue over the swollen flesh, he rolled and pinched the other nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. Feyre could have come just from this feeling alone. The dull ache in her belly was building to insufferable levels, each flicker of tongue against her nipple elicited a demanding throb from her core. But Rhys seemed in no hurry, he merely released one breast to switch to the other, worshipping it in equal measure. Feyre had tensed up so much, it felt like she was about to snap in two.

“Rhys,” she whimpered, raking her nails over his back and pushing up her hips of in search of any kind of friction, hoping to release the relentless throbbing that was _killing_ her. “Rhys, please!”

His mouth still on her chest, Rhys slid his hand down her rib cage and over her stomach, slowly inching closer where she was aching for him, but stopped when he reached the waistband of her jeans. Slipping a finger underneath, he ran it along the hem, but not further down. Feyre let out a frustrated growl. The prick was toying with her. The way they were positioned, she could only reach his head and shoulders, but no further, so there was no way to _motivate_ him to get on with it. She only had her words.

“Rhysand, _please_. I need you to touch me. _Now!_ ”

Releasing the breast he has been working on, Rhys crept back up her body and gave her a smoldering kiss.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you have no self-restraint,” he chuckled, smothering her protest with another crushing kiss, while he flicked the button of her jeans open.

Wiggling her hips, Feyre helped Rhys push her jeans over her hips, her unimpressive cotton panties staying on for now. Almost bursting with anticipation, she stilled as he pulled the fabric down her legs and over her feet. Rhys placed a hand on her calf and let it slide up the length of her legs, all the way to her hip, while he lay down beside her on the bed. Feyre turned towards him and grabbed his waist to tug him closer and molded her body to his, kissing him fervently. Hooking one leg around him, she pressed her aching core against him, desperate for some kind of friction and release. Rhys clutched her thigh and rolled them over, so Feyre was on her back once again with him situated between her parted legs, grinding into her like he had that afternoon. Her breath hitched when Rhys rubbed himself along the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, the sensation so much more intense now that there was less fabric between them. Sliding her hands down his back and grabbing his backside, she urged him to press harder. She was desperate for relief. And desperate for less fabric. Reaching between them, Feyre popped open the button of Rhys’ jeans and tried to push his pants down. He caught her hands.

“Fey, wait.” Feyre scowled at him, but ceased her attempt to undress him. Rhys kissed the tip of her nose apologetically. “Are you on birth control?” Feyre shook her head, surprised by the question.

“No, I’m not. But I thought we weren’t planning to take it that far.”

“We won’t. But maybe we shouldn’t be rubbing against each other like that without jeans.”

He was right, she realized. She had used to be on the pill for so long, it hadn’t occurred to her that rubbing against like this, even with their underwear between them, wasn’t entirely safe. Still, Feyre was slightly disappointed and it must have shown on her face, because Rhys chuckled and kissed her softly on the lips.

“Don’t worry, I have some other things in mind I can do with you instead,” he purred, the sound skittering along her bones and making her squirm.

Rhys rolled off her and onto his back and made quick work of his jeans. Feyre admired the sizeable bulge in front of his short, black boxer briefs. Turning back and propping himself on an elbow, he took in the sight of her laying in his bed, naked except for her panties. Judging from his expression, he was more than happy with what he saw. His eyes seemed to devour her, his gaze sliding from her lips over the curve of her breasts and down her stomach, lingering on her panties for a little while. Her own eyes glued to his face, Feyre, seeing where his eyes had stopped, hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties and took them off slowly. She could see his throat bob as he swallowed and Rhys gently place a hand on her stomach, brushing her skin lightly with his fingertips, but still not moving down further than her belly button. His mouth came down on her breasts once again, resuming his earlier ministrations.

Feyre was done waiting. As much as she loved him teasing and sucking her nipples, she wanted his hands - and maybe even his mouth - between her legs. In an attempt to spur him into action, she raised a hand and palmed him through his underwear. Rhys stilled and groaned, but didn’t pull back or asked her to stop. Running a knuckle from his base to the tip, she could feel it was already wet with precum. No wonder he had wanted to be cautious.

“Do I have to beg you? she whispered into his ear, running her fingers back down his shaft.

“Why so impatient, darling?” he murmured back hoarsely, but finally slid his hand down to her hip and outer thigh, before moving it back up her inner thigh. Feyre opened her legs for his wandering hand to let him know where exactly it was supposed to go next. He didn’t disappoint. Cupping her sex, he pressed his middle finger into her folds, probing for wetness. He swore at what he found.

“Fuck Feyre, you’re so wet.”

Softly biting at his neck, Feyre slid her hand down to gently squeeze his scrotum. Rhys groaned and dragged two fingers through her center, starting near her entrance up to her clit, circling it slowly.

“I have been all day,” she confessed, already panting. He swore again and pressed down on her clit. Feyre cried out softly.

“And there I go mocking you about self-restraint,” he said breathlessly. “I’m impressed you actually held out this long.”

Feyre only answered with another cry of pleasure, as Rhys started rubbing her clit in a rhythmic motion and, at the same time, gently bit down on her nipple.

They kept stroking and rubbing each other, Rhys only occasionally pausing his attention to Feyre’s chest to swallow her cries with his lips, which were growing louder and more frequent as she neared her climax. At some point she was so overcome, she stopped touching him, all her concentration solely focused on what his hand was doing. She could feel her orgasm building, the dull, aching heat from before turning into a tingling, almost cold sensation that spread out from her belly into her lower spine and down her thighs, only to suddenly retract and concentrate in her clit, where a final flicker of Rhys’ finger sent it crashing through her body in great, pulsing waves.

Still stroking her through the final throes of it, Rhys leaned down to claim her mouth in a bruising kiss. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Feyre pulled him closer to her, wanting to feel his body on hers. Instead, she felt something hard digging into her hip.

_He hasn’t finished yet_ , she realized despite her lust-addled state, so Feyre set to correct it, snaking a hand down his body towards his groin. But Rhys caught her hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss onto her knuckles.

“You don’t have to,” he declared. Feyre was confused.

“Why? You haven’t come yet, have you? she asked, her voice betraying the exhaustion that started to settle over her bones post-orgasm. She couldn’t remember ever being so tired after an orgasm, then again, she couldn’t remember the last time she had one that wasn’t self-induced.

“No, I haven’t,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “But I don’t want to cum all over the sheets. Or you, for that matter. Too messy.”

“Oh. Well then,” pushing against his chest, Feyre forced Rhys onto his back, and straddled him, careful not to sit on his groin, “I’ll just have to go about it differently.”

And before he even knew what she was doing, she had tugged his briefs down and put her mouth on him.

“Fuck!”

Rhys’ hips jolted in surprise as she sucked at his tip, licking off a bead of the salty liquid already there, before pushing down and taking into her mouth what she could fit. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Rhys fisting the sheets beneath his hands. She wouldn’t have minded if he had grabbed her hair instead. She made a mental note to mention that to him later. For now, she was focusing on him, content to taste him, feel him, and make him feel as good as he had made her feel. It didn’t take long for him to build, seeing how she had already pleasured him some time by hand before. She knew he was close when he nudged her shoulder, indicating for her to stop.

“Darling, Stop. I’m gonna come. Stop!” he croaked.

Feyre wasn’t having that, but continued bobbing up and down, increasing her speed and sucking harder. She could feel Rhys tense and shudder beneath her, throwing back his head and letting out a strangled cry as he spilled himself into her mouth.

Feyre swallowed and licked any remaining fluid from his tip, before sliding onto the bed next to Rhys, who lay on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes, relishing the afterglow of his orgasm. Feeling her snuggling up to him, his arms came around her and pulled her closer, though carefully avoiding their sexes touching. Kissing her brow, Rhys exhaled a shaky breath.

“Wicked little thing.”

Feyre giggled and threw an arm over his chest, hugging him back.

☽✴☾

After some more kissing and lazy touching, Feyre would have been content to fall asleep like this, gloriously spent and naked in Rhys’ arms, but an uncomfortable pressure in her lower belly informed her that she needed to pee. And maybe take a shower, since she was not only sweaty from this afternoon's nap, but also from their earlier exercise. In addition, she was still slick with arousal.

“Care for a shower?” With this sixth sense of his that was attuned to every shift of her mood, Rhys suddenly sprang the question at her, as if he had been privy to her thoughts.

“Really, get out of my head,” she grumbled into his chest. Rhys chuckled.

“Only if you get out of mine,” he teased back and untangled himself from her, sitting up. Feyre turned onto her front, suddenly shy about being naked now that his body was no longer covering hers.

“I need a shower. Care to join me?” After a quick assessment of her face, he added, “or take one later by yourself?” Feyre blushed. He was too good at reading her.

“I’ll take one later, thank you,” she mumbled. She didn’t want him in the room, when she used the toilet, and she also didn’t want to ask him to leave so she could use it.

Rhys leaned down to kiss the top of her head and pulled the covers up to her shoulder, before he got out of bed. Feyre sneaked a glance at him walking naked out of the room and couldn’t help but notice his rather spectacular behind. It made her consider taking up tennis. She also noticed his tattoo extended further she had expected, not only covering his pectorals and shoulders, but also running in a straight line down his spine. She almost regretted not joining him in the shower to inspect it under light, before she remembered her full bladder. Oh well. This wouldn’t be the last opportunity to see him naked.

Rhys didn’t take long in the shower. He came back after a few minutes, only dressed in a towel slung around his hips, carrying another towel for Feyre. She tried not to stare too obviously at his naked chest and the V of his hips, or give in to her urge to find out how well wrapped that towel was, but thanked him and waited until he had turned to his closet before she slipped out as fast as possible from under the covers, covering herself with the towel and sprinted into the bathroom. No matter they had seen each other naked and been intimate not even an hour ago, after the lust and desire had faded, she was quite conscious of being seen naked by Rhys.

Closing the bathroom door behind her, she made a beeline for the toilet, relieving the uncomfortable the pressure in her lower belly, although, for some strange reason, didn’t go away entirely. Feyre shrugged the concern away. Probably just muscle ache from her orgasm. After all, it had been long since she had had _anything_ resembling sex.

When she stepped into the shower, she noticed the overpowering fragrance of citrus, jasmine and this fresh sea-smell, she had come to associate with Rhys. Turning on the shower, she picked up different bottles of body wash and shampoo to sniff them. She identified the citrus coming from his shampoo and, on a sudden impulse, decided to wash her hair. The scent wafted around her as she foamed up her long hair and massaged her scalp and she hummed appreciatively. Maybe the scent lingered long enough that she could still smell it after she went home? Then she could have some piece of Rhys with her when he wasn’t around. Her stomach tightened in response to her thoughts, though it felt more like a cramp than the early stirrings of lust. Feyre frowned with her eyes still closed and rinsed the foam from her hair.

She heard a knock on the door and froze on the spot, turning down the water.

“Yes?” she called out, a bit nervously.

The shower door was mostly frosted glass, but she was still a tad uncomfortable about Rhys seeing her completely naked under the unforgiving bathroom lights.

“Feyre darling, I have some clothes for you to sleep in. I’ll leave them by the door.”

“Thanks,” she called back.

Rhys opened the door, which luckily opened towards the shower, so the door was between them, hiding him (and her), and deposited the clothes onto a shelf near the door.

“You sure you don’t want me to join?” he purred and she swore she could hear his smirk.

“Thanks, but I’m almost done.” He withdrew, chuckling.

Next she took up the body wash. Rhys had several of them, but Feyre was on the hunt for his scent, so she chose the one that came closest to that sea and jasmine smell. _Davidoff Cool Water_ , the bottle read. Wasn’t that supposed to be perfume? Shrugging to herself, Feyre squirted out a generous amount from the bottle and knew she had struck gold when she started rubbing the wash onto her skin. It was Rhys’ smell.

Rubbing his body wash all over her body felt somehow very intimate and exciting. She took extra time washing her breasts and stomach, slowly slipping a hand between her legs. She was still slick from earlier, and engulfed in Rhys smell as she was, she suddenly wished she had taken up his offer to shower together. Maybe she could convince him to go for another round? Her stomach tightened again in response to reawakening arousal, but this time, Feyre yelped a bit at the pain. This was definitely not arousal, but a cramp. And when Feyre withdrew her fingers from between her legs and found them bloody, she knew what had caused it.

_Shit, shit, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, that was so embarassing yet exciting to write!
> 
> I wrote most of it on my commute to work (I commute by train) and during that particular scene (you know which), I sat next to an elder gentleman, who kept glancing at my screen. I had to close my laptop and continue writing on my phone as not to... excite? him. Also, I didn't want him to know what smutty things my depraved mind can make up at 7am on a workday.
> 
> I hoped you liked it!  
> Come join me on Tumblr for more shennanigans @howtotameyourillyrian


	12. Chapter 12

She had gotten her period. At her boyfriend's place. They day they got together. Mortification wasn't a strong enough word to describe what Feyre was feeling.

_Shit, shit, shit._

She frantically tried to wash the blood off, but of course there was more coming. As it would for another few days. Feyre groaned when another cramp held her in its grip and sank onto her haunches.

_What if I got blood all over Rhys’ bed earlier?_ For a split second, she panicked, before she remembered she hadn't noticed anything when she was peeing earlier and Rhys hadn’t said anything about bloody fingers or sheets. He surely would have noticed, given where his fingers had been. Despite herself, Feyre giggled. That guy probably would have gone into full out panic mode seeing her bleeding.

Still being as she was, crouching in his shower and leaking blood, she was truly fucked.

_Her damn period!_

It had always been irregular, and since she went off birth control a few months ago, it had swung by whenever it wanted in all its unpredictable glory. Their earlier activities must have kickstarted the bleeding, because she hadn’t felt anything remotely similar to symptoms of her mensis until after her orgasm. Clutching her stomach, she went over her options. She was certain she had an emergency tampon somewhere in her bag, but being the heavy bleeder she was, it would only last a couple of hours. There was no way she could sleep over and make it home in the morning without leaking during the night. But if she went home now…

Breathing through another cramp, Feyre got up and rinsed herself off, getting rid of the blood as best as she could before toweling off. By whatever luck left to her, Rhys had given her a red towel, so at least eventual blood stains wouldn't be too obvious, though she made sure to be careful when drying her body. Wrapping the towel around her body and squeezing her thighs together, she sneaked out of the bathroom and towards her purse, which she had thankfully left in the hallway. She exhaled in relief when she indeed found a tampon and hurried back into the bathroom, carefully checking the floor for any droplets that might have fallen while she had walked across the short distance. She would die on the spot, if Rhys found a trail of her monthly blood on his floor.

When she made her way to the bedroom shortly after, still wrapped in her towel instead of the sleepwear he had provided, she found Rhys lying on the bed with a book in his hand, wearing nothing but long pyjama bottoms. The nightstand lamp was casting a warm light over his tan skin, making it almost glow, his dark tattoos standing out in a stark sensual contrast. Feyre wanted nothing more than to pounce on him right this very moment. Thankfully, or unfortunately, she was distracted by another cramp, reminding her that pouncing wasn't an option and wouldn’t be for a while.

He glanced up when he heard her approaching and raised an eyebrow at her attire.

“Got some plans, Feyre darling?”

How to tell him without dying of embarrassment? They were just starting out. Everything was supposed to be sexy and mysterious, not mundane and domestic. He would probably never think of her as sexy anymore, if she told him she was having her period. She could imagine nothing that was more unsexy, except for maybe using the toilet when he was in the room. That was the epitome of unsexy. This was where relationships went from sexual to platonic. Because there was no way one would have sex after that.

So Feyre nodded and placed the clothes he had provided by the foot of the bed, before she started to gather her own clothes that were strewn all over the floor.

“I'm sorry, but I need to go home,” she said while picking up her panties and slipping them on under the towel. She immediately felt better with the fabric covering the crime scene.

Rhys was instantly up, alarmed.

“Fey, did I do something?” He stared at her wide-eyed, trying to grasp what had brought about the sudden change of her mood. Feyre shook her head, clutching her clothes to her chest.

“It’s not you, it's me. I need to go.”

The double meaning of her words completely escaped her, so she was surprised by the intense look of hurt and panic that overcame Rhys’ features. He crawled off the bed and came over to her, tentatively placing his hands on her bare shoulders, as if he was afraid she might reject him. 

“Can we talk about this first, please. What did I do wrong?”

He looked devastated. Feyre was baffled. _Wasn’t that overreacting_? She was just going home. It only dawned on her then, that she had served him a standard break-up line, probably the shittiest there was.

“Cauldron, no. Rhys, no, I'm not trying to break up with you!” she said quickly. “I just… have a little problem I need to take care of.”

Rhys wasn’t convinced and he furrowed his brow while cupping her cheek. She couldn’t blame him, given how she had sent him conflicting signals all day.

“Something you can't tell me about?”

Feyre was torn between not telling him and risk hurting him, and just telling him outright and then waiting for the earth to swallow her whole. Seeing the look on his face, the decided to do the latter.

“Ijustgotmyperiodanddon’thavenapkinsortamponswithmesoIneedtogohome.” She blurted out the words as fast as she could. Rhys’ brow just creased further.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Say that again?”

Feyre’s cheeks burned bright red with embarrassment and she lowered her head, taking a deep breath.

“I just got my period and I don’t have napkins or tampons with me, so I need to go home.” And then she closed her eyes, waiting for whatever would happen next.

“Oh. I see. I have napkins.”

Feyre couldn’t believe what she just heard. Whipping her head up, she stared at Rhys, gaping.

“Come again?”

“I have napkins. You need one right now?” Rhys merely repeated, dead serious. No smirking, no humor, nor disgust; just a plain, neutral question.

“I… uhm… yes?” Feyre stammered, dumbfounded.

Rhys let go and pushed past her towards the bathroom, Feyre trailing after him, and riffled through his cupboard for the second time that day. When he found was he was looking for, he held a box of napkins out to her, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Feyre took the box, dumbstruck.

“Do you need anything else, darling. Painkillers? A hot water bottle?” Rhys asked, still completely matter-of-factly, though a slight hint of concern had crept in his words.

“A hot-water-bottle would be great,” she said flatly.

Without comment, Rhys grabbed an empty water bottle made of rubber from the cupboard and went into the kitchen. Feyre just stood there for a moment, trying to process the fact that her boyfriend of not even one day had just supplied her with sanitary napkins, currently making her a water-bottle for her aching tummy. Without even so much as blinking or acting funny.

Operating on auto-pilot, Feyre went to close the door and put a napkin in her underwear, placing the others conveniently next to the toilet for later use. Then she went to search for Rhys, whom she found in the kitchen, in the middle of pouring hot water into the bottle. Seeing her approach, he held out the bottle to her. Feyre eagerly took it and pressed the rubber container against her stomach.

“Thanks,” she murmured. Rhys nodded and said nothing else.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” she whispered.

Rhys’ mask of neutral efficiency cracked and he let go of a breath she didn’t knew he was holding, running a hand over his face.

“ _Cauldron,_ Fey, I thought you were regretting this already and want to break up with me,” he admitted.

Feyre stepped closer and hugged him with one arm, the other still holding the bottle against her tummy. Rhys crushed her against his chest and held her close.

“I’m sorry. I was too embarrassed to tell. Still am, kinda,” she mumbled against his chest, cheeks pressed firmly against his sternum. “I didn’t realize how that explanation sounded.”

“Cruel, wicked woman. You’ll be the death of me, Feyre Archeron,” he breathed onto her hair.

Feyre placed an apologetic kiss on his chest and stroked a hand over his bare back. Rhys exhaled with a huff and loosened his grip, so she could step out of his arms. Feyre’s towel had come slightly loose, reminding her that she was still not dressed and standing in the middle of the kitchen with Rhys only half dressed as well. She blushed, hitching the towel a bit higher.

“You have everything you need for tonight?” Rhys asked, brushing away a strand of wet hair that stuck to her forehead. Her entire hair was wet, since she had washed it earlier.

“Now that you mention it, can I borrow a blow dryer? I probably shouldn’t come to bed with wet hair.”

Rhys face grew tender and he continued stroking her hair, a shy smile on his lips.

“I like the sound of ‘come to bed’ more than ‘I need to go home’,” he said softly, bending down to kiss her cheek. Still feeling a little guilty, Feyre stretched as Rhys withdrew and kissed him fully on the lips. He returned the kiss eagerly.

“Blow dryer,” she reminded him and gave him another peck when he gave a playful pout.

Pacified, Rhys sent her to get dressed and vanished into the bathroom. Feyre changed into the sleepwear he had given her – actually just one of his tee shirts and some loose boxers -  and stalked to the bathroom to find him brushing his teeth, a spare toothbrush already set out for her as well as the blow dryer.

“Do you have a drug store hidden somewhere in your cupboard?” Feyre joked when she picked up her toothbrush. It was brand new. Rhys chuckled and spit out the foam before rinsing his mouth.

“My brothers and Mor like to crash at my place, so I always keep some extra toothbrushes around,” he explained while Feyre squirted some toothpaste onto her brush.

Rhys stuck around while she got ready for bed, watching attentively as the first combed and then blow dried her hair. He was like an overgrown cat eyeing its prey, never letting her out of sight and waiting to attack. Feyre thought it rather cute.

“Your curls are all gone,” he remarked at some point, eyes fixed on her hair that was almost completely dry. Feyre shrugged.

“If I were to let it air dry, it would be curly, but the blow dryer is hot enough go get rid of my natural wave.”

“I like your curls,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for her to hear.

Feyre ignored him and turned off the dryer, but instead of braiding her hair for the night as she usually did, she twisted her hair into a bun at the top of her head. If it held during the night, she would surprise him with wavy hair in the morning.

“How come you have sanitary products?” she asked, walking over to where he sat on the edge of the bathtub.

Rhys tugged her closer by her hips and her hands came to rest on his shoulders. The way they were getting ready for bed together was feeling so completely natural, but also strangely intimate, which was almost ridiculous, especially considering how much she had been freaking out about her feelings for him yesterday and today. It certainly wasn’t sexy, but it wasn’t as dreadful and unsexy as she had imagined. She liked it more than she cared to admit. Still, mentioning or using the toilet in front of him was and would stay a taboo.

Rhys bend forward and planted a soft kiss on her stomach right the very moment another cramp hit. She winced at the pain and Rhys immediately withdrew.

“Hurt much?” he asked and she nodded, focusing on breathing through the pain with her eyes closed.

“The first and second day are always the worst,” she ground out between her teeth.

“You sure you don't want some painkillers?”

Feyre shook her head.

“The water bottle is enough.”

“Off to bed then,” he declared and slung one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulder, scooping her up princess style and carrying her to the bedroom. Feyre yelped in surprise and wrapped her arms around his neck, but caught herself quickly and rolled her eyes at him.

“You're ridiculous,” she chided, earning a chuckle from Rhys.

“So you say. But you love that I'm ridiculous” he said smirking.

Indeed she did, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting to it, so she rolled her eyes again and made sure he saw it when he sat her down on the bed. Grabbing for the hot water bottle, she nestled under the blanket and waited for him to join. When she placed the hot container on her aching stomach, she moaned a little at the instant pain relief.

Having her period sucked no matter when, but she couldn't have picked a worse time. Though maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Not trusting herself to keep her hands off of Rhys, at least now she was kind of forced to take it slow, seeing as they couldn't have sex without having the bedroom look like the site of a murder.

Rhys watched her nurse to her belly while he crawled over her to the side facing the wall, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes.

“At least you won't have to worry about self-restraint now,” he remarked, sliding under the covers. “That’s one hell of a method to ensure we're taking it slow, Feyre darling.”

Feyre smacked him on the arm. “ _Prick_! I told you to stay out of my head.”

Rhys turned his smirk on to full blast.

“So that means you were just thinking that if it weren't for you menstruating, you wouldn't have been able to restrain yourself from jumping me?”

Feyre regarded him coolly and gave a stiff nod. “Exactly.”

Rhys’ smirk turned into a feral smile and he pounced on her playfully, sending her diving under the covers, shrieking and giggling at the sudden attack. Growling into her ear, he pulled her closer, careful not to touch her stomach, lest he hurt her, and started to tickle her, earning another shriek and a slap.

They wrestled for a good while, only stopping when they were both red faced and breathless with laughter, Rhys having gained the upper hand and hovering over Feyre, holding her in place with his body.

“Don’t think you can distract me! I asked you a question before!” Feyre demanded.

“Is that a challenge?” Rhys purred and gave her a deep kiss she couldn’t resist not getting into. But as they broke apart, she was still insisting.

“Come on now, why do you have napkins at your place?” Rhys groaned and rolled onto his back, pulling her along with him. Feyre nestled her head against his shoulder, shoving the hot water bottle between herself and Rhys. He shifted to make more place for the bottle and finally answered.

“Mor keeps a stash of them around at all of our places.”

“Your kidding. There’s no way that is true!” Feyre laughed at him.

“I wish it was,” he glowered. “She has them here and at my brother’s places. And wherever else she likes to crash for the night. In Azriel’s case, she even makes him buy them for her.”

Feyre snorted loudly through her nose and Rhys gave her a little smirk. She didn’t know Rhys’ brothers yet, but the thought of any man being forced to buy his… what… _foster-cousin’s?_ napkins for her was just hysterical.

“Cassian claims it comes in handy when he needs to get rid of clingy one-night stands.”

“Is that so?” Feyre asked, raising her eyebrows at him. Rhys shrugged.

“From what he told me, he makes sure to leave them lying around and when they ask about them, he goes ‘oh, they’re my girlfriend’s’.”

“And have you have found them handy to get rid of one-night stands?” Feyre asked suggestively. Rhys smiled at her teasingly and cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone.

“I don’t have one-night stands, I have you,” he purred, bringing his face closer to hers. “And in that regard, I would say they came in rather handy today.”

“Right answer,” Feyre breathed before their lips met again.

☽✴☾

Feyre had slept surprisingly well, considering her stomach hurt and she was sharing the bed with another person, albeit a person she really cared about. Yet, she was not used to sleeping next to someone, she actually didn’t like sharing a bed in general.

Therefore, she was all the more surprised when she woke up the next morning at the crack of dawn, slightly nervous about whether she had leaked during the night, and found herself in Rhys’ arms, who was still sleeping soundly. She carefully slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom to remove the tampon, change the napkin and, given the opportunity, brush her teeth, before she tiptoed back into the bedroom. She lingered for a moment by the door, watching a sleeping Rhys sprawled on the bed, looking totally unguarded and utterly adorable.

_This is my boyfriend._

She felt like she needed to keep reminding herself. He had turned onto his stomach, one arm outstretched to where she had been laying, the blanket only covering half his back, so she could admire his broad shoulders and the line of tattoos that ran straight down his spine. She was dying to get a closer look.

Trying to sneak into bed without waking him, she settled not on the side she had been sleeping on, but instead behind him, so she could inspect the tattoo on his back.

“Research this early?”

Waking from sleep, Rhys voice sounded darker, lower. More sultry. Feyre blushed at the sound. Rolling onto his back and then towards her, pulling her into his arms, Rhys opened his eyes and gave a little sleepy smile.

“Someone’s very eager in the morning.”

Wrapped in his arms like this, she certainly was eager, but not for research. Rhys must have guessed her thoughts, because his smile turned downright indecent and he bend down to place open mouthed kisses along her neck while fondling her breasts for good measure. Feyre sighed contentedly and ran her fingers through his hair and over his back.

“Good morning to you, too,” she breathed.

Rhys grumbled something against her skin and slipped a hand under her shirt. Feyre gave a little moan when he cupped her naked breast with his hand and resumed his fondling. It was like some switch had been flipped since the breakup-no-breakup incident yesterday, because Rhys no longer hesitated to touch her as he pleased.

_Not that I mind_ , Feyre thought when Rhys softly pressed her into the mattress, kissing up her belly towards her breasts now. She liked him being assertive.

They continued kissing and touching for some time, before somehow ending up asleep again. When they woke the second time around 9am, they stayed in bed, cuddling and talking for another hour or so. Feyre felt blissfully relaxed and happy. Now that she was no longer worrying about keeping away or growing too close, she found just how much she enjoyed Rhys’ company, even if they were doing nothing more than laying in bed and sharing opinions about a certain author’s book or whether Latte Macchiato was actually coffee or a snack.

When they finally got up, it was hunger that drove them from bed to pillage the fridge. As Rhys had claimed yesterday - _Cauldron_ , _that had only been yesterday,_ she thought - Feyre found the fridge well stocked.

They had a lovely breakfast in his living room, continuing their talk. Rhys, however, kept getting distracted every time she shifted and her hair fell into her face, or tumbled over her shoulder.

She had let it out of the bun earlier and it now fell in big waves down her shoulders and back. He hadn't been kidding when he had said he liked curls. He kept staring at her hair and Feyre made sure to play with it more than necessary, tucking it behind her ear, throwing it over her shoulder, letting it tumble forward again whenever possible. He was transfixed, his fingers twitching as if he was desperate to touch the light-brown strands. Toying with him like that felt immensely good, empowering even.

“You know, I think, I need a haircut soon,” she said innocently, throwing her hair over one shoulder while they were cleaning up the breakfast table. “It's getting too long.”

Rhys paused to stare at some strands that fell back forward again and caught the light.

“Oh?” he said, continuing to shove food into the fridge and trying to school his face into a neutral expression. He was going for a look of mild interest. He failed miserably.

“Yeah. I thought about cutting it short, like just below the shoulders.” Fluttering her lashes at him coyly, she added, “if I go for a layered cut, my natural wave will come out more. Makes my hair more curly.”

A grim smile grew on his face as he understood what she was doing. He came over and raked both hands through her hair, cradling her head.

“You’ll look beautiful no matter what,” he said, kissing her brow.

“Which do you like more?” she pressed on. “Long and wavy or shorter and curly?”

“I like you. No matter what your hair looks like. Do what works best for you, darling.” And with that he tilted her head up and slanted his mouth over hers for a deep kiss. Feyre’s body immediately went pliant and she pressed herself against him.

“Though I have to admit, I like how it is right now,” he confessed almost reluctantly, running a hand over the length of hair that hung down her back and tugging at the ends playfully.

“Then I'll keep it long,” she declared. Not because he wanted her to, but because he specifically had _not_ demanded her to do as he liked. For that she wanted to go for what made him happy, as long as it didn't go against her own wishes.

Rhys smiled and gave her another lingering kiss, one that was stirring another kind of hunger than the one they had just sated. Yet, Feyre broke the kiss after a moment.

“I should head home soon,” she said, suddenly solemn. She didn't want to, but she had work later in the afternoon and had shamelessly neglected her school work in favor of Rhys ever since she met him. Rhys smile faded, but he nodded.

“Okay!” he said, but hugged her closer against him.

Feyre giggled. “Rhys, let go. I can't go when you're holding onto me like this,” she chided good-naturedly.

“Good!” he growled next to her ear and only let go, after she kept hitting his back in a half-hearted attempt at protest.

Feyre did a quick sweep of the apartment for her belongings and got ready to leave, Rhys trailing behind like duckling after his mother.

“Okay, I think I got everything.”

Feyre checked her purse once more for her keys. Rhys stood leaning against the wall opposite to the door with his hands in his pockets, watching her quietly.  Feyre could tell he wasn't happy about her leaving, although he tried not to appear like it. If she was being honest, neither was she, but she had work to do. No matter how infatuated she was with Rhys, she wouldn't neglect her school because of him. 

Pushing away from the wall, Rhys came over and rested his forehead against hers, hands on her hips. Feyre wrapped her arms around his neck and they stood like this, bathing in each other’s presence, savoring it for a little bit longer.

“See you soon?” Rhys asked. Feyre hummed a response and breathed in his scent once more. She would never get sick of it.

“I’ll write you later. I need to see how much I have to catch up on. I haven't done anything for classes lately.”

Rhys chuckled and withdrew from her slightly so he could look into her eyes.

“Got distracted, darling?” He had the audacity to wink.

Feyre nodded. “Terribly so. Ever since Wednesday.”

Rhys’ face turned wistful. “Me too,” he said softly, kissing her brow. Feyre got butterflies all over again and pulled him down for a last, smoldering kiss.

“Bye,” she whispered, pulling away. Rhys’ eyes twinkled.

“Bye, Feyre darling.”

He held the door open for her and watched her bounce down the stairs for the front door, waving and smiling as she turned around at the foot of the stairs to cast a last glance.

☽✴☾

Feyre started missing Rhys the moment she had left his apartment, and it got worse. She was fascinated by how much one could get attached to a stranger within the span of a few days.

The moment she was back home, she threw herself into her work, determined to make up the time she had stolen for Rhys, only to find that her mind would wander back to him at every given moment instead of focusing on the papers she tried to read.

She would replay the last couple of days in her head, going over his words, the way it had felt kissing him, his smiles and touches. She was still smelling like him too, courtesy of the liberal amount of his body wash she had used.

Working at the library later that day didn't take her mind off him either, if more, it made it worse. For whatever reason, the library was highly frequented this Sunday, so she needed to be attentive enough that she couldn’t work on her classes, but not nearly attentive enough not to think about Rhys constantly. By the time she came home, she decided it was becoming a problem.

To punish herself for her lack of productivity, she messaged Rhys, telling him she couldn't meet him tomorrow, because she had too much work to do. He replied instantly, being really understanding and telling her to put work first. Him being like this was something Feyre still couldn't wrap her head around. She was not used to being selfish and putting her own needs first and she was even less used to having someone, her boyfriend specifically, being okay with it. Not that it wasn't refreshing. Actually, it was exactly what she needed. She still needed to get used to it, though.

And what she needed most of all, she decided, was to get his scent off her, or else she wouldn't be able to concentrate on any of the work she attempted to do before bed. Or sleep. So she went and took a long, extensive shower. Needless to say, it didn't help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!  
> Early update, because I've been home all day today and had the time, and also, because I will be busy for the rest of the weekend.  
> Let me know, how you liked it, I always appreciate feedback!!!
> 
> Join me on tumbrl @howtotameyourillyrian


	13. Chapter 13

Tuesday evening, Feyre was giddy with excitement.

True to her word, during their usual Monday lunch she had told Alis everything about how her Friday evening date turned into a Saturday sleepover, not to mention the sudden change of her relationship status.

“I know I told you to follow your gut feeling, but if I'd known your gut was in such a hurry, I might have asked it to get back with me first,” were the first things that left her mouth after a minute of stunned silence.

Soon enough, however, she had caught herself and demanded more intel. She was persistent, but Feyre stayed close-lipped regarding info on Rhys. When Alis asked to see a picture of him, Feyre flat out refused, claiming she didn’t have one.

“You mean to tell me he doesn’t have a picture on Tinder?” Alis asked incredulous.

“No. I mean yes, but they’re shit. He looks much better in real life,” Feyre hedged.

Alis scoffed, but accepted her fate when Feyre promised she would introduce them soon. But not too soon.

Somehow, she was reluctant to share Rhys, wanting him all to herself for the time being. And a part of her was afraid that Alis would somehow burst her little happy bubble. Because as much as she was convinced Rhys was a wonderful person and absolutely perfect for her, she didn’t fully trust herself not to only see what she wanted to see in him. And Alis, being the good friend that she was, would always mercilessly tell her the truth.

Therefore, even for just a few weeks, she wanted to selfishly indulge in that first feeling of a new relationship, the scorching attraction, the butterflies and the rush of lust and desire, before it might end in misery and heartbreak. Because of that she was sure. She was in too deep already for her heart not to break if things fell apart.

That was why the wretched thing was now beating louder and louder as she steadily approached Rhys’ apartment.

Eyeing the nameplate on the bell, she couldn’t help but smile. Rhysand Nash. _Nushaba_. The tip of the archer’s arrow.

_Or maybe, Feyre darling, it’s fate_. She could feel the heat creep into her cheeks.

Feyre pressed the doorbell and pushed the front door open. Rhys was waiting for her again, standing in the open doorway with a smile on his face. Feyre’s legs suddenly felt very weak and she stumbled on the last steps, falling right into Rhys awaiting arms.

“Falling for me, Feyre darling?” he teased. She went scarlet. He hit too close to home with that.

“Uhm, hi,” she mumbled, straightening in his arms. Somehow, she felt ridiculously shy. But then he hugged her and suddenly everything was right again.

“I missed you, darling,” he whispered into her ear, his cheek pressed against hers.

“I missed you, too,” she murmured, breathing in his scent. _Cauldron_ , it only just hit her how much she had.

“You’re cold. Come on, let’s get you inside.” They were still standing in the open doorway. “Do you want some tea?” Rhys asked, pulling her inside and closing the door.

“Yes please.”

Feyre discarded her bag in the hallway and took of her coat and shoes, while Rhys sauntered into the kitchen to prepare tea for them.

They settled onto the couch, Feyre happily clasping her mug of tea and Rhys just content watching her while she told him about her last couple of days.

“Did you manage to get some work done?” he asked, gazing at her softly.

“Ah,” Feyre shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Some, yeah.” Rhys raised an eyebrow at her. “I actually still need to work on something for tomorrow,” she admitted.

“That’s alright. You wanna use my desk?”

Rhys pointed towards it, but Feyre shook her head and set down her mug.

“I’m okay on the couch. I brought my laptop,” she said.

She had come straight from uni and brought everything she needed with her. And she’d rather lounge on his comfy couch with her laptop than sit at the desk. She worked better, when she could sit comfortably. Rhys stood and picked up her mug.

“Do you mind me being in the same room while you work?” he asked.

“No, of course not. I think I’ll actually work better if you’re there. I couldn’t -”

Feyre promptly shut her mouth and blushed. Rhys cocked his head, smirking.

“Oh? What couldn’t you, darling?” he teased. Feyre narrowed her eyes at him.

“Prick,” she muttered under her breath.

He chuckled, still waiting for an answer.

“I couldn’t concentrate well, because I kept thinking about you,” she admitted.

Smiling, Rhys bend down and kissed her brow softly.

“Wanna know something?” he rasped, his eyes blazing. “I haven’t done a damn thing, but think about you.”

Feyre reached out to stroke his face. He closed his eyes, savoring her touch for a moment, but then cleared his throat and got up, breaking the moment.

“I’ll leave you to work. We can do some distracting later,” he added with another wink.

Feyre snickered and got up to fetch her bag from the hallway before settling back onto the couch.

She actually got a decent amount of work done, Rhys’ presence having a calming effect on her. It helped, that he was not staring at her either, but busied himself on his computer, leaving her to do what she needed to.

Wrapping up after a hour and a half later, she walked over to Rhys and slid onto his lap. He gave a little surprised start, but immediately placed his hands around her middle, tugging her a bit closer.

“Hey.” she smiled.

“Hey. Done with work?” Rhys smiled back. Feyre nodded. “What do you want to do, now. Want to watch some TV?”

“I think I heard someone talk about doing some distracting earlier,” she cooed, batting her lashes at him.

“So eager, darling?” Rhys pulled her a bit closer, his lips brushing her cheek. Her skin was burning where they touched. Feyre placed a finger on his jaw and turned his head so he was facing her fully.

“Very,” she said. “I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet.”

“How very negligent of me,” he purred and leaned in.

☽✴☾

Rhys ran his fingers over her bare back and Feyre leaned into the touch, smiling to herself.

He had made sure to correct his earlier slight and kissed her thoroughly - not without effect on himself. Feyre had felt him grow hard under her thighs, so she had writhed in his lap, rubbing against his erection. He had returned the favor by getting her out of her shirt and bra and fondled her breasts. At some point, they had ended up on the couch, both topless and horny as hell. Yet, when Feyre made to open his jeans to ensure that at least he would find release, he had stopped her.

“Not while you can't,” he had said, gently kissing away her protest.

So they had continued kissing and touching, both of them left burning with want and desire. It was still kindling in Feyre’s belly, ready to flare up at the lightest touch or kiss, but her sex drive had given way to a more tender feeling. She was content to lie next to Rhys, still topless, and savor the touch of his fingers on her naked skin and the feel of his body pressed to hers. She felt peaceful and safe - and like she belonged.

Looking up, she found him gazing at her with those gorgeous eyes of his, a serene expression on his face. She gave him a happy smile and he sighed, hugging her close and burying his nose in her hair.

“Mother above, you’re so beautiful, Fey.”

She blushed a little. She had noticed he only called her Fey when he was overcome by strong emotions and his control was about to slip. It sounded like a love confession every time. She herself was desperately trying to control her tongue, so she wouldn't say certain things that were not ready to be spoken yet.

_Falling for me?_ She was. She had. Faster and harder than she ever had with anyone. But she couldn't tell him. Not right now. She was too afraid to break their fragile bond with words. Her actions must suffice for now.

“Alis was chewing me out earlier. She demands pictures,” Feyre said instead.

Rhys laughed and pressed a kiss to her hair. She loved how he didn’t seem to be able to resist kissing her every 5 minutes.

“Have you shown her my - how did you call them - _shitty_ profile pictures?”

“No way, she would have ordered me to break up with you right away.” Rhys’ laughter rumbled in his chest and Feyre pressed closer, hiding her face. “I don't have them, anyways. I deleted Tinder.”

Another thing she hadn't told Alis. The moment she had gotten home on Sunday, she had deleted the app. She no longer needed it.

Rhys gently pulled her away from him and stared at her, surprise and some other emotion lighting up his violet eyes. One that Feyre was too afraid to decipher, because it was sure it would have certain words spilling from her lips. Rhys tucked her in close again.

“I still have it, but only for your picture. I need it to keep Mor at bay. Else, she will demand meeting you right away.” His voice was laced with emotion. “I'll delete it if you want me to, though. Just say the word. I don't want you to think I'm not serious about this. About us.”

Feyre kissed the inked skin over his heart.

“You don't have to. I trust you not to go searching for affairs,” she surprised herself saying.

But it was true. She did trust Rhys deep down, although they barely knew each other. She hadn't trusted Tamlin, or anyone, like this. Ever.

“If you want that picture, though, I can send it to you. Or just introduce me to Mor,” Feyre offered.

“You'd be willing to meet Mor? Rhys asked, stunned.

Now Feyre was the one pulling away, frowning at Rhys. “Why wouldn't I? She's important to you, right? If she's anything like Alis, I bet she's making your life miserable right now, demanding to know about me.”

Rhys smiled a sheepish little smile. “I actually haven't told her about you yet. She knows something's going on, she's too perceptive not to notice, but nothing concrete.”

Feyre propped herself up on her elbows and scowled at Rhys. “Why?”

He reached out and smoothed the wrinkle between her brows with his fingers.

“You said you wanted us to take it slow. I wasn't sure you were comfortable with people knowing about us. And Mor’s really nosy. She'll cling to you more than I do,” he explained with a shrug.

“First of all, that is not possible. Being more clingy than you, I mean.” She shot him a pointed glare and a smile tugged at his lips. “And secondly, of course people can know about us. Especially those you care about. But thanks for being considerate.” Rhys exhaled softly, but audibly. “I actually really look forward to meeting Mor. She sounds great,” Feyre admitted.

Rhys beamed and pulled her in top of him, crushing her into his chest.

“Wanna meet her this weekend? We can have dinner. I'll cook something.” he offered.

But Feyre shook her head. “Sorry, I can't make it this weekend. I'll be gone all weekend to visit my sisters.”

She really dreaded going home. Not only was her hometown close to Springfield, where she had lived with Tamlin, but her relationship with her sisters wasn't the best. Her middle sister Elain was okay to deal with, she was all sweet smiles and denial. When things got problematic, she simply refused to see them. Nesta on the other hand…

Nesta was all the rage and burning fury of the world contained in a small, petite frame not unlike her own. Literally everything could set her off and the Mother have mercy and save whoever stood in her path when she erupted. Feyre had seen men twice their size and age shrink before Nesta, simply because of what she had said or how she had looked at them. She hadn't seen Nesta in person since she had moved out to live with Tamlin.

Feyre flinched remembering that particular moment. Feyre had told Nesta point-blank that her fiancé, Thomas, was likely to beat her, like his father beat his mother, and she was better off not marrying him.

The irony of the fact, that she herself almost ended up in a marriage where this could have very well been her future, didn't escape her.

After she had left Tamlin, she had gone back home for a short while to prepare for her move to Velaris and learned from Elain, that Nesta was no longer engaged to Tomas, but she hadn’t met Nesta, who had been away on a hard-earned vacation. She was terrified of meeting Nesta vis-à-vis.

“What is it, darling?”

Feyre blinked and returned back to the present. She hadn't realized she had gone quiet on Rhys. Worse, her whole body had tensed up. She sighed and tried to relax against him. With one arm, Rhys dug out a blanket from underneneath them and wrapped it around her like a cocoon. He softly caressed her face with his knuckles, looking worried.

“Fey, you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, sorry. I'm just nervous about meeting my sisters. We don't exactly have the best relationship, as you know,” she said. Rhys’ face, if possible, grew even more worried.

“Would you rather not go home?” he prodded gently.

Feyre shook her head. “I promised them I would visit once I settled here. I can't not visit. In their own way, they're worried for me, I think, so they need to see I'm okay.”

Rhys nodded and kept stroking her face. Feyre closed her eyes to enjoy his touch, snuggling closer.

“How far away is your hometown?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Almost 3 hours by plane. And then another hour by car from Springfield.” Elain had promised to pick her up from the airport.

Rhys furrowed his brow. “Isn't Springfield where you did your undergraduate?”

“Yeah. That's actually why I chose Springfield. Close to home and locals pay less tuition,” Feyre clarified.

“So that means he lives close to your sister's place?” Rhys concluded grimly.

_He._ Tamlin. Feyre had totally forgotten about him. She didn't know whether he still lived there, but since his father's company - the one he would eventually take over - was situated in Springfield and he had been working there since they'd met, he might very well still live in Springfield. Maybe even in the same flat they’d shared.

“We… he used to. I don't know what he's doing now.” She eyed him closely. “Are you worried?”

Rhys frowned at her. “Of course I am worried.”

Feyre scowled. She knew he was her boyfriend now, but she didn’t like him getting territorial over her ex. Or in general. She had had too much of that bullshit before.

“It’s not like I’m going back to visit him. I’ll be at home with my sisters,” she said sharply, wriggling out of the blanket enough to be able to sit up and shoot him a warning glare. Rhys sat up too.

“I’m not saying I think you’ll seek him out, I’m just worried he will,” Rhys said, his tone appeasing. “From what you told me, he is persistent. If he is like any of the persistent people I know, he’ll likely show up on your doorstep the moment you set a foot within his vicinity. So yeah, I worry. You told me about how much he hurt you. What kind of boyfriend would I be, if I didn’t?”

Feyre averted her gaze and clutched the blanket to her chest in an attempt to cover herself. She was equally terrified of Rhys being right about Tamlin possibly seeking her out while being at her sister’s, and pissed at Rhys for assuming he had any say in that matter. She wanted nothing more than to bolt.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with that,” she snapped, gathering the blanket about herself and getting up from the couch. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

Rhys’ face fell, shock overtaking his features.

“Feyre -”

But Feyre was too agitated to listen to him. Instead, she stalked over to his desk, where most of her clothes were strewn all over the floor. She had just finished putting her bra back on, when she felt Rhys’ touch on her elbow.

“Feyre, please don’t. Don’t run away. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I know you don’t need me to take care of you. Please don’t shut me out.”  Rhys was pleading.

Feyre’s eyes shuttered close. She didn’t want to leave, but her preferred mode of operation had always been running away. She was doing it again. She had learned nothing, it seemed.

“I can’t do that again. I can’t have someone tell me what to do and what not,” she hissed.

“I’m not trying to.” He grabbed her elbow, lightly enough that she could shrug him off if she wanted to, and made her face him. Feyre turned and meet his eyes, albeit reluctantly.

“I’m not trying to tell you not to go to your sisters.” Rhys said, face earnest. “But you’re my girlfriend and I lo- I care about you a lot, so I am worried for you. Like I would be worried for any of my friends facing situations that make them uncomfortable or put them in some sort of danger. I’m not pulling some male-claiming-bullshit here, it’s just that I can see that you are nervous about going home and I thought it might be because of him. And you being nervous makes me nervous, too.”

Feyre exhaled sharply and hugged herself, looking away from Rhys and instead focusing on the bookshelves to her left.

“So you’re not trying to tell me not to get back home because you think I’ll get back together with him?” she said, eyeing a particular colorful book spine. She couldn’t look at him.

“ _By the Cauldron’s bubbling contents_! No, of course not! Fey, look at me please,” he pleaded again and she tore her gaze away from the books and looked at him. Rhys took a step closer and waited a moment to see whether she would back away, before tenderly cupping her face between his hands.

“Listen. I will not - not now or ever - tell you what to do and who to meet. What you do with your life, which people you decide to spend time with, those are not my choices to make, but yours. And I will never try to make those choices for you. Whatever decision you make about your life, which road you go down, I will respect and try to come to terms with.”

“And if I decide to go back with Tamlin?” Feyre interjected. Rhys flinched as if she had struck him, but didn’t look away or let go off her.

“If that’s what you want, what you choose to do, then I’ve got no choice but to accept that,” he declared in all earnestness.

“And if I don’t want to, but he comes bothering me?” she asked. She didn’t know why she was asking him all this, or what exactly she wanted to hear from him.

“Then I’ll gladly serve him his ass, if you want me too. I’ll be damned if he bullies you into going back with him and you’re suffering for it,” he promised, gauging her reaction. A slight nod from her part encouraged him to continue.

“You’re my girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean I claim some kind of twisted ownership over you. But I would be honored, if I get to walk part of the way with you on whatever road you choose to go down. Preferably for a long, long, time.”

Rhys eyes bore into her and Feyre blushed violently. Placing her own hand over his, she searched his face, trying to process his words and fighting against the wave of emotion that was overcoming her. She tried to ground herself with the feeling of his touch, concentrating how his fingers felt under hers, while she stared into the violet depths of his eyes.

“I won’t go back with him. There is nothing I want less. And nothing I want more than to be with you,” she finally managed to say. “I am sorry for freaking out - again. I haven’t considered that I might run into Tamlin visiting my sisters, so when you brought up that possibility, it scared me. Sorry I took it out on you.”

Feyre bit down hard on her bottom lip. Rhys tenderly tugged her bottom lip free and leaned in to ghost a kiss over the impression her teeth had left.

“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t want to scare you. I just wish I could protect you from getting hurt.”

Feyre removed his hands from her face and held them between them, shaking her head adamantly.

“Don’t try to protect me. That’s what he claimed to do,” she told him.

“What do you want me to do then?” Rhys asked.

He looked disheartened. Feyre’s heart constricted. She was causing this. This was all her, ruining her relationship with this wonderful man, because he showed concern and care for her and she wasn’t used to it. Feyre closed the distance between them, burying her face in his chest. Rhys arms encircled her automatically.

“This. I just need this. You,” she murmured against his chest. “Just be there for me like this. My safe haven. My rock to lean on.” And she would try to let him in, not to run away from him.

Rhys pressed his cheek to the top of her head with a sigh and held her. “I’m here for you. Always. Just don’t shut me out. I can’t bear it,” he whispered into her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered back.

Remembering they were still half naked, they eventually pulled away, but the mood was off. Feyre continued dressing, contrite about ruining their evening, and Rhys followed suit, putting on his shirt and plopping onto the couch, watching her with poorly concealed unease.

Donning her sweater, Feyre was unsure what to do. She should probably go home, but leaving right now didn’t sit well with her. So she followed him to the couch and snuggled up against him. Rhys draped an arm around her and Feyre leaned her head against the crook of his neck, planting a little kiss on his jaw.

“Are we okay?” she asked.

Rhys sighed and rested his chin on the top of her head. “Yes. But please talk to me, okay? And also - “ his voice broke. Feyre squeezed him encouragingly. He took a deep breath, as if to steel himself for her reaction.

“Don't compare me to him. I'm not like him. I would never treat you like that. So please, don't assume I will.”

_No, no, no._ This was going all wrong.

Well, to be honest she had assumed more than often that Rhys would react like Tamlin, but that was because all men in her life had reacted that way or another and her own behavior pattern matches those of men like Tamlin. But for him to think she thought so little of him made her anger flare up again.

Only this time she shoved it down and instead turned his face towards hers, so she could look at him. His face was stony, guarded even.

“I can't promise I'll stop comparing you. I'm not sure I even want to.” Rhys’ face grew darker with every word, but Feyre continued.

“I compare you to him to remind myself that this right now is how things are supposed to be in a relationship. I need to compare you to be able to appreciate what a wonderful person you are and how lucky I am to call you my boyfriend. But you're right, I shouldn't expect you to behave like him. I'm sorry. But I never had someone not behave like that. I'm still learning.”

Rhys’ expression had softened, but his face was still grave.

“I'm insecure, too. I'm still wondering how someone like me ended up with someone like you,” he confessed.

Feyre have him a little scowl. “What do you mean someone like me?”

Rhys reached up and traced her eyebrow with his fingers.

“Someone so smart, and funny, and beautiful as you. I honestly think I don't deserve you sometimes.”

“Don't. Don't put me on a pedestal. Don't say things like you don't deserve me,” Feyre said, growing agitated again.

Tamlin had said the exact same thing. Her being too good for him. Only he got angry when the real Feyre didn't meet his glorified image and expectations of her.

“I could say the same things about you. You make me laugh more than anyone ever did, your insanely beautiful inside and out and I thank the Cauldron every day that I decided to overlook the shitty quality of your pictures.”

This finally made Rhys chuckle and the ghost of a smile graced his lips. Feyre leaned her forehead against his.

“Don't say you don't deserve me. We deserve each other,” she said softly, gently caressing his jaw.

“Yeah,” he said and sighed, pulling away to gaze at her affectionately, the earlier shadows finally chased away. “Cauldron, how did I even find you?”

“You didn't,” Feyre answered and smiled at his raised eyebrows. “We met!” she clarified.  “ _Maybe it's fate, darling_!”

She was rewarded with one of his broad, beautiful full smiles and was instantly relieved. Smiling like that, there was no way he was still angry.

“You have no idea just how much I adore you, Fey,” he said, his voice brimming with unspoken emotion.

_And you have no idea about how much in love with you I am already_. But instead of saying this, Feyre leaned forward to kiss him.

“How come we always end up with such heavy talk?” she mused when they broke apart. Deprived of her mouth, Rhys kissed her jaw.

“It's good we address such things right away. I'd rather have heavy talks and get things off my chest before they eat me up from the inside,” he said calmly.

Feyre snuggled closer again and rested her head against his shoulder, pondering that.

“Can I stay today?” she asked eventually. “I think I should tell you a bit more about my family.”

Rhys kissed her head again. “Anytime, darling. Anytime.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering about the update: this is an unscheduled, additional update!   
> I had something good happen to me, so I kinda wanted to share the happy? So here's another upload for this week!

Balmy air hit Feyre when she left the terminal building and walked towards the parking lot, where Elain had promised to be waiting for her.

Feyre was sweating in her thick woolen sweater, which was more suited for the crisp, biting November cold of Velaris than the moderate temperature of Springfield. She hadn't even bothered donning her coat, knowing it would be too hot for it, but she was still surprised by just how much she had misjudged the weather. She hadn't been living in Velaris long enough to forget how weather was down here.

Not home. Feyre had never felt home, not here nor anywhere. If she was honest, the only place that held any semblance of home for her was Rhys’ embrace. It was the one place she felt calm and safe.

Positioning herself by the parking ticket booth as agreed, she let her mind wander to Rhys.

They had talked well into the night on Tuesday, Feyre telling him in detail about her family situation and her relationship with her sisters. Rhys had held her the whole time and listened attentively, only interrupting once to suggest moving from the couch to bed.

They did nothing more that night than to hug and talk, but on an emotional level, it had left Feyre more satisfied than if they had slept with each other. Not that she didn’t crave physical gratification as well.

She had slept over again on Thursday, after Rhys had offered to give her a ride to the nearest airport Friday morning, gladly accepting his offer which meant she wouldn’t need to use public transport. And when she had arrived Thursday evening, they had picked up where they had left off on Tuesday. Only this time, Feyre didn’t listen to when he told her she didn’t need to finish him off and went down on him. After a little confession on her part, about how much it turned her on, he had fisted his hand into her hair and held her head while it bobbed up and down his length.

Thinking back to it now had her clench her thighs together, especially when she remembered the promise he made her: lying sprawled on his bed after he had finished, his eyes half-lidded and glazed over, he had vowed to do certain things to her once her period was over.

Their attempt at taking it slow had somehow completely been abandoned. Feyre had given up insisting on it, seeing that she was the main perpetrator of their sexual encounters.

Lost in her thoughts, Feyre didn’t hear her sister calling her name, until she near shouted into her ear.

“FEYRE!”

Feyre gave a start and turned. But it was not Elain standing in front of her, obviously exasperated, but Nesta. Feyre was instantly on her guard.

“Uhm, hi Nesta. Long time not see. Where’s Elain?” Feyre asked nervously. She cringed inwardly at how shaky and false her voice sounded.

Nesta scoffed and glared at her with the the same grey-blue eyes Feyre saw in the mirror every morning. If anything, Nesta and Feyre could almost be mistaken for twins with how similar they looked, both having not only their mother’s eyes, but the same golden-brown hair, high cheekbones and oval shaped faces. The only redeeming feature that differed significantly was their mouth, Feyre having inherited their father's full lips. Nesta’s lips were not only smaller, but her mouth was also frozen in a perpetual sneer, like the one she was sporting now.

“Elain’s busy, she asked me to get you.”

WIth that, she turned around and walked away, not waiting for Feyre to follow. Clenching her jaw, Feyre set after her, following Nesta to the little green beetle that belonged to Elain. Feyre herself had painted the flowers on the car’s fender. Nesta didn’t even attempt to offer her help with her bags, so Feyre hoisted them into the back and took the passenger seat.

They rode in silence for most of the way. Feyre sneaked glances at Nesta from the corner of her eyes, but her sister faced forward in icy stillness, hands on perfect 3 and 9 positions on the steering wheel. Feyre noticed that Nesta wasn’t wearing her engagement ring or any other ring. So Elain had spoken truth about Nesta’s engagement falling through.

Feyre wondered how this had come to pass. Nobody in his right mind would break up with Nesta, her being scary as she was. And why would Nesta break up with her fiancé in the first place? She had desperately wanted to get married. Then again, Feyre had no clue what Nesta actually thought or wanted in general.

“You’ve come back,” Nesta said.

Not a question, but a statement. Feyre was ripped out of her musings.

“I promised Elain I would come visit as soon as I got settled in with school and everything,” she answered. Nesta didn’t deign to reply, so Feyre fell silent again, too.

“Grayson broke up with Elain.”

Feyre’s head whipped around and she gaped at Nesta.

The last time she had seen Elain, she and her fiancé Grayson Nolan had been madly in love. He was some local politicians only son, and although Feyre had thought him to be somewhat dull, not to say thick, the way he had looked at Elain had clearly shown how much he had adored her. Nesta and Thomas breaking up? Foreseeable. Her and Tamlin? Everyone but them had seen it coming. But Elain and Grayson? Feyre had half expected to be picking out bridesmaids’ dresses this weekend.

“When? How?” she spluttered.

“1 month ago? Apparently, the two of us are a liability for Grayson’s political career.” Nesta’s voice was dripping venom. Feyre didn’t get it.

“I don’t understand. What do the both of us have to do with Grayson? And since when was he considering a political career?”

The two times she had spoken to him, he has explicitly told her he would not follow in his father’s footsteps. Nesta scoffed, but kept her eyes in the road.

“Grayson doesn’t consider anything, because he is as dumb as it gets. But his daddy told him, he should become a politician, so Grayson decided it was a good idea. Only daddy didn’t think it was a good idea to marry a woman, whose sisters are breaking off engagements left and right. Doesn’t sit well with the voters, it seems.”

Feyre just stared out of the windshield, too stunned to speak. A thousand things went through her head at once. But one stuck in particular. _Whose sister are breaking off engagements._

“ _You_ broke off with Tomas?” she inquired.

This time, Nesta shot her a quick glare. “I did.”

“Why?”

“I had my reasons,” she said clipped.

Feyre knew when she was being dismissed. Frowning, she stared at Nesta, but she wouldn’t say anything more. Feyre sighed and turned her gaze back towards the street.

“How is Elain?” she asked instead, earning another scoff from Nesta.

“Coping. She actually has some help with that.” Nesta’s lip curled in disgust.

Feyre didn’t know what to make of all this. Elain and Nesta no longer engaged was one thing, but to have Nesta show disgust towards something Elain did, was unprecedented. Elain was the only one Nesta showed any kind of warmth towards. This was the essential reason Feyre couldn’t stand Nesta. Nesta had never showed any kind of affection or sisterly love towards her, but only ever displeasure and annoyance.

“What do you mean?” Feyre asked.

Something was off. Terribly so. She knew for certain, when Nesta stopped in front of their house and turned to look at her with what could only be described as a look of mild concern.

“You’ll see.”

☽✴☾

It should take a few hours before Feyre would find out what Nesta was so uncharacteristically worried about. Whatever kept Elain busy, did so outside of the house,  so Feyre had nothing better to do than unpack and reclaim her old room, which took all of 15 minutes. She sent a short message to Rhys, telling him she arrived safely. He sent a quick message back, wishing her a nice weekend.

They weren’t the type of people to write each other constantly, or freak out when they didn’t receive a reply within the matter of minutes, so Feyre knew Rhys didn’t expect to hear from her for the next few days. And she really should concentrate on her sisters, kitting their relationship. Especially now that it seemed that Elain needed her. And maybe Nesta even.

But when Feyre roamed the house, it seemed that Nesta had retired to her own room, and Feyre knew better than to try and bother her there. She was probably working and Nesta hated being interrupted in her work. She worked as a paralegal and was lucky enough to be able to do most of her work from home, so she could keep an eye on their father’s business.

Their father was away on a business trip, well occupied now after Tamlin had helped him out with getting back on his feet, unbeknownst to Feyre at that time. He had done it, so that she felt less responsible for her family and her father’s failing business and moved in with him instead. The more she thought about and confronted her past with him, the more she understood just how deep his manipulation of her had gone.

Shuddering, Feyre entered the kitchen and opened the fridge in search of a snack. Grabbing a can of pop, she went out to the backyard terrace that opened to Elain’s well-tended garden and waited for her to come home.

 ☽✴☾

Elain’s usual bright bubbly laughter floated to where Feyre was lounging in a chair, catching the last rays of daylight. Sitting up, she started towards the house. It was strange to hear Elain laughing like this, taking into account what Nesta had told her, but Feyre dismissed the thought. Considering the alternative, hearing her laugh was a good thing.

Feyre went into the kitchen and discarded her empty can in the bin, before following the sound of Elain’s laughter. It was coming from the front of the house, along with the banging of car doors. _Weird._ Nesta had picked her up in Elain’s car. _Did she get a new one?_ But when she got closer, she could make out two voices: Elain’s bright and lovely soprano and a deeper, male baritone. Feyre stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. She knew that voice.

The creak of the stairs behind her told Feyre, that Nesta had come down from her room, but she didn’t turn to look. Instead Feyre stared towards the front door that opened and revealed Elain and a tall man deep into conversation, carrying bags of groceries. Elain laughed again at something the man had said.

A man she knew. She would have known him anywhere, from the flaming red hair, tied into a low ponytail, to the scar that run down one side of his face, mauling his otherwise strikingly handsome features.

Feyre stayed where she was, rooted on the spot, waiting for them to notice her, to explain.

“Really, there is no way that could be - “ Elain stopped talking when she noticed Feyre standing in the hallway. With a little squeal, she shoved her bags into her companion's arms and hurried over to Feyre, hugging her.

“Feyre! You’re here,” she exclaimed excited. 

But Feyre didn’t react, nor did she hug Elain back. All she did was stare at Lucien, trying to figure out why her sister was suddenly all cozy with Tamlin’s best friend.

 ☽✴☾

Feyre took a sip of her mulled wine and cringed at the sweetness. Not the wine's, but the one that hung thick in the air and was threatening to have her teeth rot: Elain and Lucien.

Elain had proposed going to the seasonal open-air ice rink their town set up every year. As children, they had loved coming, learning to skate from their parents. They eventually had stopped coming when their mother had died and their father's knee had been damaged during a car accident shortly after.

When they got older, Feyre had gone once or twice, the booths serving mulled wine and vendors around the rink attracting underage teenagers and grownups from neighboring towns alike. Feyre had some very fond memories about this place, which involved underage drinking and some heavy making-out sessions behind the booths with her old boyfriend Isaac Hale.

Although given the mild climate, mulled wine seemed like a ridiculous choice of beverage.

Feyre wiped some sweat from her brow, the hot, spiced wine warming her from within. A drink like that would be lovely in Velaris though. She needed to ask Rhys whether Velaris had similar events. It would make a fantastic date, walking the little crooked streets of the Rainbow in the blistering cold, having mulled wine while gazing at the stars (or each other) and then going home together to warm up. Maybe by doing some exercise...

Mentally slapping herself for fantasizing about Rhys, she shook her head to clear her thoughts and took another sip of her drink. Nesta was doing the same.

Nesta, who was standing next to her, shaking with barely contained rage. Nesta, who normally wouldn't bother going to a social outing with them. Feyre seriously didn't know what to make of all of it.

When she had overcome her first shock of seeing Elain with Lucien back at home, Feyre had not asked Elain to explain, but instead turned to Nesta in a silent plea for clarification.

Nesta had shrugged and said, “they're friends now.” That was all. _Friends_.

Elain had offered a more exhaustive explanation: Lucien had turned up at their house about a month after she had left Tamlin (and luckily for Velaris as well, Feyre thought), carrying some stuff Feyre apparently had left at Tamlin’s, declaring Tamlin was too upset to keep it or bring it over himself. Elain had put the boxes into the closet in her room for Feyre to sort through when she came home the next time.

Feyre made a mental note to throw all of it out the second Lucien was gone.

Afterwards Lucien had found excuses to show up every now and then, making an effort to befriend Elain, who wouldn't spot the obvious interest Lucien had in her. Things with Grayson had ended shortly after, and Elain had become a zombie, only Lucien managing to get her to speak, or eat, or coax a laughter from her.

That's how Lucien had been promoted from passing acquaintance to close friend and Feyre and Nesta had the dubious honor of watching Lucien wade through the thick mud that was the friend zone, because for all the flirting and complimenting he did, Elain drank his attention up like a parched flower and spit the leftovers back out, once she had sucked whatever nourishment she could get from his thinly veiled adoration, dismissing it as friendship.

Really, if Feyre didn't know any better, she would have assumed Elain was stringing him along on purpose.

“He is there all the time now,” Nesta had seethed, when Elain and Lucien had gone to fetch their drinks earlier. “I would tell him to get out, but he really is the only thing helping her get over Grayson.”

That and the knowledge that in some sick, twisted way her decision of breaking up with Tamlin had played a part in destroying her sister's happiness, kept her from snapping and screaming at Lucien.

So instead she drank too much mulled wine in too warm weather and watched the rom-com before her eyes unfold, all the smiles and giggles and Lucien's obvious pining and adoring looks so sweet, it almost made her teeth ache. She was glad for Nesta's silent support, because that was undoubtedly why the eldest sister had even bothered coming with them.

That, or maybe to claw Lucien's eyes out and give him a matching scar on the other side of his face, if he so much as dared touch Elain with the tip of his little finger.

But for all the distraction Lucien provided, Feyre could see shadows overcoming Elain’s face from time to time. It only happened for a moment, her gaze becoming unfocused and her eyes glazing over, as if she was looking at something they couldn't see. Lucien seemed to be attuned to those lapses, because he would usually provide a comment, or grab her attention another way to wrest her out of whatever thought or memory had trapped her. Feyre wanted nothing more than talk to Elain, but not as long as Lucien was around.

She got her chance when Lucien excused himself to search for a toilet, promising to fetch more drinks. Feyre scooted closer to Elain.

“Nesta told me about Grayson,” she started.

Elain closed off immediately. She was as good at that as Feyre.

“Yeah, well, that's old news,” she said and waved a hand dismissively. Nesta gave a light scoff, but didn't comment.

“Elain, I'm sorry, if my leaving Tamlin had anything to do with it -” she started again, but Elain interjected.

“He never really loved me anyways. The only reason he got together with me in the first place was because his father wanted an in with Tamlin’s father,” she whispered, eyes downcast. Feyre stared at her, wide eyed.

“What?” Feyre couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Elain nodded sadly and drank the last of her cup.

“Lucien told me, Mr. Nolan had forever been interested in getting Mr. O’Tools support for the campaign trail, because they hold so much influence in Springfield. Only Tamlin’s dad wasn’t very interested. But if you had married Tamlin, for his son to marry the future boss’s sister-in-law could have been beneficial.”

Elain avoided looking at her, her gaze sweeping over the crowd instead. Tears were welling up in them.

Feyre exchanged a look with Nesta, who shook her head imperceptibly.

That couldn’t be the whole truth. Feyre had seen the way Grayson had looked at Elain and the guy was too simple to fake it by putting up a performance like that. No, he had been in love with Elain, despite his father’s scheming.

But maybe it was easier for Elain to accept the fact that it had all been a ruse and he hadn’t loved her at all, than accept the fact that he simply hadn’t loved her enough to make certain sacrifices. Clever fox that he was, Lucien had given Elain the excuse she clung to and at the same time won her trust. He was good at reading and manipulating people like that. Feyre was ready for bloody murder. 

“You talk with Lucien a lot, it seems,” she said, the words coming out sharper than intended. Nesta shot her a warning glare, but Elain didn’t have seemed to realize.

“Yeah. He is really nice. I think he is rather lonely, too. After things fell apart between you and Tamlin, he was really sad, because he lost you as a friend. I think that’s why he comes over so often. Because I remind him of you.”

Feyre stared at Elain in disbelief. Things fell apart? Didn't she know what had happened with Tamlin? Things hadn't just fallen apart, she had escaped a relationship that would have destroyed everything that she was.

But Elain didn't know that. Neither did Nesta. Because Feyre had never bothered telling them. So Feyre swallowed the bitter retort already on her tongue and remained silent, vowing to rip into Lucien the moment she caught him alone.

Just then, Lucien showed up with a new round of drinks, his keen eyes immediately noticing the wet shimmer in Elain’s. Frowning slightly, he glanced between Elain and her sisters, but averted his eyes quickly when he was met with murderous stares by both Feyre and Nesta.

Instead, he turned to Elain, who had already started on the drink he had brought her, her cheeks turning more and more pink by the minute.

“Elain, have you told Feyre about tomorrow yet?”

“Oh!” The mention of whatever Lucien hinted at was enough to pull Elain back to the present. “No, I haven’t”. Smiling sweetly, Elain turned to Feyre. “I planned a huge dinner for tomorrow! With all your favorite foods! We’re gonna have a blast!”

“We?”

Elain nodded eagerly.

“Yes. All of us. We are going to dress up - don’t worry, you can have one of my dresses, or maybe you find something in your stuff Lucien brought over? - and then we are gonna have a 5 course meal. You, Nesta and me. Oh, and Lucien, of course.”

Feyre just stared at Elain, her face brimming with excitement, then at Nesta, who, believe it or not, expressed something that could almost be mistaken for pity, and then at the drink she was holding.

_I am going to need more of this_ , she decided and chugged down the whole thing in one go. 

☽✴☾

The next day, Feyre had a pounding headache, but still got up early with grim determination. The first thing she wanted to do was to throw out the boxes Lucien had brought over from Tamlin’s.

After a quick breakfast and armed with a huge mug of coffee, Feyre stared at the boxes in her closet, trying to incinerate them by will alone. When that didn’t work, she considered throwing them out unseen, but she was missing some items of clothing that she might have forgotten at Tamlin’s. After all, she had departed in a hurry.

So she spent the whole morning going through all of the boxes filled with clothes Tamlin had gotten her, jewelry Tamlin had gotten her, books and music Tamlin had gotten her, and more stuff Tamlin had gotten her and that she hadn’t wanted or hadn’t cared about then and surely didn’t now.

Constantly touching all the trinkets and clothes Tamlin had chosen for her based on what he thought she liked, or more like what he liked seeing her in, left her feeling tainted somehow, like he was touching her through those things. So she got up and took a shower and then padded into the kitchen to replenishing her coffee mug. Today was a two-cup day. Potentially three.

Mug clasped tightly between her hands, Feyre stared at all the unwanted things littered in her bedroom and debated what to do with it.

She was still considering throwing it all out, maybe burn some of the pieces she hated passionately in the backyard, like the cutesy, gauzy, pastel-colored chiffon dresses Tamlin had liked to dress her in for functions and company parties, but wasting perfectly good clothes and books went against her beliefs. Her family had been in a tight spot long enough for her to regard wastefulness as serious crime.

So she went back into the kitchen again and grabbed a few bin sacks and her third mug of coffee, and started systematically dividing and packing clothes and books. Elain and Nesta, hearing her rummage about, stopped by to see what she was doing. Feyre offered them to take whatever they wanted and Elain gleefully started browsing dresses and jewelry, snatching up a few that struck her fancy. Nesta refused politely by scoffing and turning on her heel, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

When Feyre had repacked everything, she borrowed Elain’s car and made rounds.

She donated most of the clothes and jewelry to the local thrift store, except for some of the more expensive dresses and those that could pass as evening gowns and an assortment of matching jewelry, which she handed to her old high school teacher to discreetly give to those girls, who couldn’t afford dressed for their prom. The books and music went to the local library.

When she finally returned home, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest.

Only when she pulled up in front of the house and saw Lucien’s car already parked there, some of the heaviness crept back in.

☽✴☾

The tension during dinner was so thick, Feyre could have cut the air like the steak on her plate.

It was mostly her fault. Nobody had really expected Nesta to make small talk over dinner, but Elain had probably decided on the lengthy 5 course meal, so Feyre could tell them in detail about her life in Velaris.

Only Feyre wasn't talking, because she didn’t want to share any details of her current life with Lucien, and mostly kept ignoring him whenever he tried to spark up a conversation with her. When there was no way avoiding him, she gave single word answers at best.

True to herself, Elain simply ignored Feyre’s behavior and chattered on and on. Feyre felt slightly bad about acting like this, especially because Elain had slaved away for hours in the kitchen, assembling a 5-course-meal for her, but she couldn't get over herself. Not with Lucien sitting across from her and continuously sneaking glances at her. She knew he had some agenda other than Elain, something concerning Tamlin, but she wouldn't make it easy for him.

“Isn't that Nesta's dress?” Elain suddenly piped up.

Feyre glanced down at the black wool dress she was wearing. As mentioned yesterday, Elain had demanded they got dressed up for dinner, so Feyre had braced herself earlier and knocked on Nesta's door, asking her for some clothes to wear for tonight. Surprisingly, Nesta had provided a dress for her without hesitation.

She nodded and ate another piece of steak. Elain was getting really good at cooking; the dinner was superb. Only the company could have been chosen better.

“But you have all those nice dresses upstairs,” Elain said with a slight frown.

“I gave those away,” Feyre said, sipping her wine. “The wine is really good, Elain. Care to tell me what it's called and where I can buy it?”

But Elain just stared at her with her mouth hanging slightly open. As did Lucien and Nesta.

“What do you mean, you gave them away?” Elain asked, her sweet face wrinkled in confusion.

Feyre shrugged and took another sip. She really had to take a bottle of the wine back home and have Rhys try it.

“I donated everything,” she said and put the empty glass down.

“Tamlin bought those things for you.”

For the first time this evening, Feyre didn't avoid looking at Lucien. He stared at her in angry disbelief, like giving away something Tamlin had bought for her was some sort of sacrilege or a horrible sin. Feyre gave him her most saccharine false smile.

“I didn't need them. Sorry you had to bring them over. If you'd bothered asking before you dumped them on my sisters’ doorstep though, I could've spared you the trip,” she said sweetly.

Lucien turned red with anger and even Elain couldn't gloss over the situation this time. Not with the tension building rapidly between them, both Feyre and Lucien about to snap. Nesta, however, leaned over to Feyre and refilled her wineglass, a little smile tugging at her lips. Feyre nodded her thanks. It was really too weird to have Nesta suddenly as her ally, when they had been antagonists for most of their lives, but Feyre appreciated the gesture.

“Do you have any idea just how much money Tamlin spent on those things. On you?” Lucien snarled.

“I'm pretty clear on how much money he threw around, thank you very much!” Feyre finally snapped. “Though if he sends you to get rid of the stuff, he probably doesn’t care that much, does he? Else, he could've kept it, or sold it for all I care.”

Lucien open and closed his mouth like a fish on land.

“He didn't send me to -” he started, but Feyre interrupted him.

“Don't lie to me, Luc. You promised.” She said softly, suddenly incredibly sad.

Just how much he was willing to do and lie for Tamlin’s sake? He had been her friend, at some point the only friend she had, except for Alis. Only he had always been Tamlin's friend first and hers second.

Not hungry anymore, she hastily excused herself before Lucien had the chance to reply and went to the bathroom to catch a moment alone.

When she had calmed enough to be sure to have herself under control again, she opened the bathroom door, only to find Lucien leaning on the opposite wall, waiting for her. Feyre immediately snapped her guard back up.

“Elain and Nesta are preparing dessert,” he explained.

Feyre nodded and started walking towards the dining room.

“Feyre, wait,” he pleaded softly.

She turned back to him, still silent. He looked as sad as she felt. “Can we please talk?”

She studied him for another long moment. She had once cared about him a great deal. And she still did. If she was being honest, she missed him a lot, especially his sharp tongue and caustic wit.

“What’s going on?”

Nesta had come out of the kitchen, a bowl clasped in her hands, frowning at the both of them.

“Nothing,” Feyre hastily said, earning a surprised glance from Lucien. “I take desert will take a while?”

When Nesta nodded, albeit reluctantly, Feyre turned to Lucien.

“Let’s talk in the study,” she said and motioned towards a door at the end of the hall.

With one last glance towards Nesta, who now undoubtedly looked alarmed, Feyre led the way.


	15. Chapter 15

Feyre had barely closed the door to her father’s study behind her, when Lucian finally said what he probably had wanted to say since yesterday.

“Feyre, please come home.”

“No,” Feyre shot back without hesitation, crossing her arms. She had known this was the reason he had come here today. Poor Elain. Would he stop coming to visit her when he realized he couldn’t convince Feyre?

“Please. He… We need for you to come back.”

Feyre gave a humorless snort.

“That's why you wormed your way into today's family dinner? Still the scheming, manipulative fox, I see. Poor Elain. There she goes, thinking she has made a new friend, only to be used for his own agenda. Or Tamlin’s rather.” Feyre’s voice was acid. Lucien looked taken aback.

“Feyre, I don't underst -”

“Oh, don't play dumb,” she snapped. “You think I never noticed how you practically shoved me into Tamlin’s waiting arms? How you found excuses all the time to conveniently leave us alone?” she spat.

Lucien at least had the decency to look slightly ashamed. “You didn't seem to mind that much,” he said defensively.

“Oh but I did. I wasn't playing coy, I just was not into him. I know I gave in eventually, and yes, I know I shouldn't have, but the both of you basically didn't leave me any other choice, did you?” Feyre was seething.

Lucien opened his mouth to protest, but closed it, not knowing how to respond when Feyre had hit so close to home. And just because she was so pissed and wanted to get back at him, she decided to give him another piece of her mind.

“You know that I actually considered dating you? The reason I kept meeting you guys was because I was testing the waters, seeing whether _you_ would be interested. But then you brought Tamlin to every date - yes, I considered them dates,” she added hotly, when Lucien flinched at the words, “and you were so obviously trying to set us up, I knew you weren't interested.”

She gave another humorless laugh. Lucien had taken her horseback riding once or twice, and although they had argued most of the time, there had been an underlying sexual tension to their talk that had made her wonder, if he was as passionate in bed as he was about his opinions.

Lucien was shocked by her admission, but shook his head as if to clear her words from his mind.

“Feyre, look, I’m sorry. But please. You don't understand. Tamlin is… was…just so...” His voice broke off and he took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts.

“He has been… difficult since you left. I need you back home. Please.” Lucien was pleading now, his desperation apparent.

“I don't care. Tamlin is no longer my concern. It's not my job to clean up his mess,” Feyre stated adamantly.

“THE MESS YOU LEFT BEHIND!” Lucien exploded suddenly.

Feyre recoiled slightly, but stayed firm.

“His mess,” she repeated, her irritation steadily growing. “I broke up with him. People break up. And then they have to deal with it. It's not my job to fix his life for him, and neither is yours,” she said as calmly as she could, but her voice was shaking with suppressed anger. “We can't keep doing this; trying to fix him. We can't change him, he has to be willing to change himself. But he won't if we keep indulging his behavior, letting him get his way. You're not his mother, Luc, you're not responsible for him. And neither am I.“

Lucien was growing more and more agitated as well. He had probably expected this to be easier, for her to follow his - no Tamlin’s - demands. Because she always had in the past. She had sometimes ‘made a fuss’, how they had liked to call it, but in the end, she had always relented like the good girl she was supposed to be. Seeing that she wouldn't budge this time, Lucien was resorting to other methods.

“I owe him Feyre. You owe him. After all he did for us,” he pressed on.

Feyre only shook her head at him, anger giving way to sadness that he felt the need to stoop so low.

“Friendship and love aren't about conditions, Luc. He offered you a place to stay after things went to shit with your family, yes. So that means you have to do anything he wants? Does he owe your life in exchange for something every friend should give freely? Does helping my dad out with business give him ownership over my life and my decisions? That would be no different from buying me.”

Feyre’s lips curled in disgust. Tamlin had made perfectly clear often enough that he thought helping her family would give him that right. But Lucien dismissed her words like they were nothing.

“Okay Feyre, you made your point clear. Now let’s go back and -”

“What do you want me to do, Lucien?” she cried, no longer able to contain her anger. “Come back and play house with him? To what end? So he will be pacified and won't take it out on you anymore and we all can go on pretending life it good? Only he will take it out on me instead when something else doesn't go his way, or I _misbehave_. How long do I have to take it? Until he finally hits me? Do I have to sacrifice myself for his and your peace of mind?”

Feyre’s voice was steadily rising as her emotions poured out of her.

“It was _killing_ me! I was _dying_ inside! We played happy little family for all the world to see, but I was living a nightmare. I can't. I won't do it anymore. And you can't make me.”

She shouted the last words at him.

Lucien’s face was a mask of shock.

“Feyre, what happened to you. You've never talked like that.”

“I never did, because I was afraid of the consequences, YOU DAMN IDIOT,” she roared. “I never did, because I was afraid it wouldn't be the wall he punched next time, or the table he kicked, but _me._ Did you know what he did when I told him I wanted to wait with the wedding, because of school? He trashed his study. _While I was in there!_ I was lucky I only got cut by some glass shards flying around and nothing heavier. You think I dared talk back to someone, who can demolish a whole room, just because I asked him to wait for something he would eventually get?”

Feyre sobbed a dry sob as the memories from that day clawed their way to the surface. She pushed them down as hard as she could.

“What else has to happen for you to open your damn eyes, Lucien? Tamlin’s rage isn’t normal. It’s nothing we should or can deal with, or attempt to fix. That’s on him. He needs therapy. But that’s not my job and certainly not yours. So no. I won’t be coming back to him. We are over.”

Feyre’s chest was heaving by the time she was done yelling an Lucien. But Lucien merely stared at her, face void of any emotion. She knew then he was calculating how to approach next, and the place she still held for him in her heart shattered, because she knew then he had not listened to anything she had said, not taken it into consideration, so he could hold onto that illusion of his friend Tamlin he so desperately clung to. Like she had clung to her illusion of a happy relationship with Tamlin.

“You have changed.” he stated. Feyre laughed a hollow laugh. Of course. He needed her to be the problem.

“Yeah, and thank the Mother for that! I think it’s best if you go.”

With him refusing to even acknowledge her position, there was no meaning in continuing this talk. Lucien took a step closer to her, raising both hands in front of him, as if he was trying to calm a wild, frightened animal.

“Feyre, ple -”

“No!” she interrupted, stalking towards the door. “There is nothing you can say or do. I will not come back. I don’t _want_ to come back. And I’m sorry you can’t accept that. But there is no way you can convince me to, no matter how much you pester me for it.”

Doorknob already in her hand, she turned and gave Lucien her best intimidating stare.

“And just to be clear: I know you like Elain and have for a while. And she seems genuinely happy to have you as her friend. But the moment she decides she is not interested in spending time with you, or has no interest in being something more than friends, you back the fuck off! Don’t you dare cajole and manipulate her into a relationship like you and Tamlin did with me. Otherwise, I swear by the Cauldron, me and Nesta are gonna rip you to shreds.”

Feyre threw the door open. “And now get the fuck out of my house!”

But Lucien wasn’t moving. Instead he was looking towards the open door, the color draining out of his face at impressive speed.

“Elain, I- “  he managed to choke out.

Whirling around, Feyre found her sisters standing in the hallway. From the promise of murder burning in Nesta's eyes, she understood they must have been standing there for a while, Nesta probably having pulled Elain from the kitchen and trailing after them right after Feyre had declared she would talk to Lucien in the study.

Feyre froze as dread twisted her gut. _They heard_. All the things she didn't tell them about Tamlin, because she had been and still was too ashamed and scared of their reaction. _They had heard it all._

But Nesta wasn't looking at her, instead her eyes were fixed on Lucien - as were Elain’s.

And Feyre hadn’t known her gentle, lovely sister was capable of looking at someone the way she did now: her whole posture radiated icy wrath, her soft brown eyes held no remnant of warmth as she stared at Lucien, her face stony. It was a terrible sight to behold.

“Get out.” Elain hadn't spoken very loud, but her words cut like knives through the heavy silence. Even Feyre flinched. She was almost feeling sorry for Lucien. Almost.

“I… Elain… I, please -” he stuttered.

“Get. Out.”

His face crumpled. Lucien didn't dare defy her. He walked towards the front door, looking like a whipped dog with his shoulders dropped and head lowered.

Nesta walked over to Feyre and threw an arm around her, pulling her against her side and holding her protectively. Feyre was too shocked over the unexpected gesture of sisterly concern to react. Elain came over too, steel in her eyes as she swept them over Feyre in a quick assessment, before placing her hand soothingly on Feyre’s back and turned around towards the retreating figure of a beaten man.

“Lucien.” He turned, not completely able to suppress the sliver of hope that crept into his eyes, because Elain had addressed him again. Really, it was pathetic.

“If you value our friendship, you better not tell Tamlin Feyre is here for a visit.”

The look of guilt and shame that overcame Lucien's features had Feyre’s blood freeze in her veins.

☽✴☾

When she heard the knock on the door, Feyre said a hurried goodbye to Rhys and ended their call with the promise to call back later and wiped away the tears that had started falling anew during their talk.

Realizing that Tamlin knew she was at her sisters’, Feyre had reacted in a way totally uncharacteristic for her - she had broken down crying.

Her sisters, who had never seen her emote anything other than stubborn determination or anger at best, panicked and did the first thing that came to their mind: they hugged her between them. They had stood in the hallway for a good long while, Feyre sobbing into Nesta's shoulder and ruining her silk shirt, while Elain rubbed soothing circles onto her back and whispered calming nonsense to her.

When her breathing had calmed down enough for her to speak again, they had wiped away her tears and smoothed her hair, asking if she needed anything. Feyre had thanked them and asked for some time alone. Surprisingly, they had respected her wishes.

But the moment she had closed the door to her room behind her, she had felt like she needed to call Rhys, to hear his voice and have him comfort her. So she dialed Rhys’ number and told him what had happened. Halfway through her recounting, she had started to cry again, which caused Rhys - there was really no other way to describe it - to throw a hissy fit.

“Do you want me to come, darling? I can be there in a few hours depending on the flight. Wait, let me check.” She had heard the clicking of a mouse and frantic keyboard typing.

“I'm halfway across the country. And I'll be home tomorrow evening anyways,” Feyre had croaked out between sobs, not able to contain her crying.

“I don't care, I'm coming. There is a flight in two hours. If I leave right now, I could be in Springfield at 3am and then rent a car and drive to your place. What's your address?”

To hear him like this, all panicked and worried for her, had somehow calmed her down. Laughing and crying at the same time, she had ensured him she was alright and there was no need to take a flight to come seen her.

“Don't go anywhere without your sisters, not even down the street or into the garden. Make them take you to the airport, don't take a cab alone. If he is anything as persistent as you describe, he will try to come see you.”

“Okay.” she had sniffled.

“I'm serious Fey, I have experience with situations like this. He might not be a stalker, but persistent ex-boyfriends can be just as bad.”

She had promised him again and asked whether she could stop by his place once she was back. With a scoff, he had informed her he would be picking her up from the airport and there was nothing she could do about it. This was when she heard the knock.

Looking towards the door now, she saw Nesta enter her room with two steaming mugs. Shutting the door with a quick bounce of her hip, she came over to the bed, offering one of the mugs to Feyre and sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Feyre took the mug with both hands and sniffed. Hot chocolate. With extra marshmallows. She took a sip. After talking to Rhys, she felt eerily calm. Maybe she was going into shock.

While she was considering this, Nesta’s eyes were glued to her face.

“You have been crying again.”

Feyre nodded, taking another sip of her chocolate. It was really good. And comforting. Nesta's glanced down at Feyre’s phone for a moment and then back to her.

“Whom have you been calling?”

If Feyre had been in her usual mood, she would have snapped at Nesta, telling her it was none of her business, but Feyre wasn't in her usual mood. And after earlier, she understood that Nesta was trying to make sure she was alright in her own very Nesta way. So she decided to tell her.

“My boyfriend.”

Feyre sipped her chocolate again and held Nesta’s gaze. Nesta kept staring at her blankly and Feyre gave a little sigh.

“His name is Rhysand, we’re not together that long, only since last week. I called him to tell him what happened. He knows about Tamlin,” she supplied.

Nesta blinked and stayed silent, but she seemed content with the amount of information she got, because she averted her eyes and took a sip of her own chocolate.

“Where’s Elain?” Feyre asked. If she had expected anyone to bring her hot chocolate and solace, it was her middle sister.

“In her room, brooding.” Nesta’s words were clipped and Feyre caught the undertone of something she couldn’t place.

“Why?” she asked.

Nesta looked at her in outrage. Feyre immediately regretted asking.

“Why? Because we just learned our baby sister almost married an abusive asshole against her will and we didn’t even know. Worse, you didn’t think you could tell us. You still don’t tell us.

We know we failed you as older sisters. When mum died and dad lost all our money, it was you who took care of everything, when it should have been me and Elain. But we thought that, at least when something really bad happens, you would come to us and we could be there for you.

We only just realized how much we must have failed you that it didn’t even occur to you to ask for our help once.”

Feyre teared up again. She hadn’t thought they cared.

“This damn fox has been in and out our house for months, sucking it up to Elain and trying to get into her pants,” Nesta hissed. “If I had known which role he played in getting you involved with Tamlin, I would never have let him get within 3 miles of our home. And neither would have Elain.”

“How come you are not brooding, then?” Feyre sniffled.

“I have more practice in hating myself than Elain,” Nesta remarked tartly.

“Nesta - “ Feyre begun, but Nesta cut her off with a look. It seemed like Feyre wasn’t the only one who needed to get something of her chest.

“I was jealous of you, you know. I was angry, so angry all the time. I still am. Angry at mum for dying and leaving us behind, angry at dad for losing all our money and not taking care of us. But most of all I was angry at myself for feeling helpless and frightened and not knowing what to do. And I was angry at my own uselessness, seeing how you worked yourself to the bone and just did what I couldn’t. So I decided I would look for a way to provide for us, so you wouldn’t need to anymore. And because my only skill was looking and behaving pretty, I made use of that skill and looked for a husband, one that could provide for me and maybe for my sisters as well.”

Feyre wasn’t sure she was breathing. She had always been wondering just why Nesta had been interested in Tomas, seeing that they had nothing, absolutely nothing in common. But his family owned the biggest ranch around town and they were moderately wealthy, at least compared to what their financial situation at that time had been.

“You almost married that horrible man for his money because of us?” Feyre asked in shocked amazement.

“It was the only way I could think of helping,” Nesta shrugged and Feyre was stunned at the nonchalance she said it with. “Being a paralegal doesn’t pay nearly enough. But then you went and got together with Tamlin, who in turn helped dad on his feet and suddenly there was no need to marry Tomas anymore. You even had the audacity to tell me not to marry him, because it would make me unhappy.”

Nesta turned to look at Feyre again, eyes burning with emotion.

“I hated you for it. I had tried so hard to find a way I could help you, to share the burden with you. Something I thought only I could do. And I would have gladly sacrificed myself for you, for Elain. But then you go and save me - again. I hated you for it. For taking away my chance to be a god sister for once. And I hated myself even more. Especially when you came here in summer, Elain saying you looked like the life had been sucked out of you. And most of all I hate that asshole that made my baby sister suffer through all of it.”

Feyre burst out crying. She had always thought Nesta hated her, Elain being the only one she cared about. She hadn’t realized that the way they were, both of them hiding their vulnerable selves behind walls of ice and and thorns, loving that fierce, protective way they did, Elain was better suited for receiving their kind of affection. But Nesta cared about her just as much.

Feyre crawled over to Nesta, who already held her one arm open to her, and snuggled into her sister’s embrace.

“I love you Nes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t want to burden you with my problems, not when things were finally going well for you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Nesta said harshly, but not unkind. “We all are.”

Feyre nodded and sniffled, brushing tears out of her eyes. Nesta leaned her head against hers.

“That new boyfriend of yours. How is he?” Despite her tears, Feyre smiled fondly thinking about Rhys.

“He’s an insufferable, arrogant prick.” Feyre felt Nesta stiffen immediately and snickered under her tears. “But he is kind. And caring. And the best person I know. He almost hopped on the next flight when I told him about earlier.”

Nesta relaxed, but was not convinced. “It is serious then?”

“Very,” Feyre whispered, pressing a bit closer to Nesta for warmth.

Although she was happy to find comfort in her sister’s embrace, she kind of wished it was Rhys’ arm draped around her.

“Are you in love with him?” Nesta’s voice was soft, softer than she had ever heard.

Feyre paused a moment before replying. “I think so.”

“How did you meet?”

“On tinder,” Feyre admitted and Nesta inhaled sharply.

“Are you serious?”

Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, Feyre looked up to Nesta and gave a little smirk.

“No kidding.”

Nesta glared at her with narrowed eyes, probably trying to figure out whether Feyre was pulling her leg. Feyre’s expression must have convinced her though, because she huffed a little incredulous laugh.

“I want to know everything,” Nesta demanded. Feyre nodded. She owed her sister. Both of them.

“Can we go see Elain?” she asked. “I’d rather tell the story only once. And apologize to her, too,” Feyre added meekly.

Nesta’s face softened and she stood up from the bed, holding out a hand to help Feyre up. Together they went to Elain’s room, making a quick detour to the kitchen for more hot chocolate and some snacks. Elain opened the door to their continued knocking, looking almost as puffy from crying as Feyre.

The both of them soon were crying again, when Feyre apologized to her for not telling them about Tamlin.

Squeezing into Elain’s queen-size bed and cradling their cups of cocoa, Feyre told her sisters all they wanted to know about her time with Tamlin and her new life in Velaris. At Nesta’s insistence, she caved and told them about Rhys, too. This resulted in several snorts from Nesta and giggles from Elain, dispelling the earlier heavy mood.

Eventually, Nesta cracked and talked about her time with Tomas, how she had ensnared him and tried not to murder him in his sleep whenever she couldn’t sleep because of his snoring. And how relieved she had been when she realized, she didn’t need to marry him.

In the end, even Elain gave up her pretense and confessed what horrid words Grayson had thrown at her head when breaking their engagement, which caused her to cry again and Nesta and Feyre to start boiling with rage. They left a rather nasty voicemail for Grayson, both smug with grim pride afterwards, while Elain was torn between mortification and gratitude.

They talked until late into the night, until the three of them fell asleep on Elain’s bed, huddled together like they used to when they were children.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!

Feyre recognized him by the shock of black hair even before she saw Rhys’ face. Gripping her bag tighter, she squeezed her way past people and hurried over to where he was anxiously waiting for her. 

Feyre wordlessly barreled into him and Rhys caught her in a hug, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Breathing in deeply, Feyre let his scent wash over her. 

_ Home _ . She felt like she was home. 

She hadn’t wanted to admit it to her sisters, but since Lucien had indicated that Tamlin might knew she was at their place, she hadn’t felt safe. But being in Rhys’ arms, she finally did.

They didn’t speak, instead they kept hugging in the middle of domestic arrivals, not caring about the people bustling around them and eyeing their welcome scene. 

“My sisters want to meet you,” she finally said, not making any attempts to move. 

“Okay,” Rhys murmured against her neck, he too not loosening his grip on her. 

When they pulled away, they only separated enough to peer into each others faces, Feyre cupping Rhys face between her hands. 

_ Mother above _ , he was so beautiful. And worried. His gorgeous violet eyes studied her face, taking her in and assessing her mood, a deep frown shadowing them. Stretching upwards and pulling his face towards hers, Feyre kissed him full on the lips. 

“Take me home,” she requested.

☽✴☾

While Rhys drove home in silence, he constantly held her hand, only letting go to change gears. Feyre stroked his hand with her thumb, squeezing every now and then to let him know she was alright while watching him drive. She was so focused on him that she didn’t notice where they were driving. Only when Rhys turned on a street that led to her apartment instead of his, she realized he had misunderstood her request to bring her home. 

“Rhys, when I said to take me home, I didn’t mean my place. I meant yours,” she said, blushing deeply.

Rhys pulled over and stopped the car, turning in his seat to face her. 

“I wasn’t sure,” he admitted with a shy smile, caressing her cheek. “I have dinner at my place for you.” 

Feyre smiled back at him. “Sounds lovely.” 

With a last stroke of his thumb over her cheekbone, Rhys leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her lips before turning forward again and starting the car. They pulled over at his place shortly after, Rhys being fussy with her bags and holding out doors for her, but growing more and more relaxed once they were inside his apartment.

“I’ll start making dinner?” he proposed. 

Feyre shrugged out of her coat and shivered slightly. She was only wearing a thin button down dress, which wasn’t nearly warm enough for Velaris in winter, but she didn’t want to arrive all sweaty and disheveled, because she was wearing too many clothes on the ride to the airport and during the flight. 

“Should I help you?” she asked, smoothing down her hair with her hands. 

“No, you can just relax.” Rhys said, reaching out out to help flatten a persistent whorl of hair. Feyre leaned into the touch with her eyes closed.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” 

Feyre always felt dirty flying or using the train, like other people’s residue stuck to the seats and transferred to her clothes and skin.

“By all means, my place is yours, darling,” he said and placed a little kiss on her brow. 

She had noticed that he was being cautious about kissing and touching her, probably afraid to scare her away with too much proximity after what happened with Lucien. He had no idea just how much she was craving his touch. So she stepped closer and hugged him around the middle, kissing his jaw and nuzzling his neck with her nose.

“I like you,” Feyre said in lieu of the words she didn’t dare speak yet.

“Me too, Fey. I like you, too. Very much.” But he gently pushed her away. “Go take your shower, I need to get started on the dinner. We talk later.”

Feyre gave a little pout, but Rhys playfully swatted her backside and jerked his chin towards the bathroom door. With a little yelp and a scowl, she grabbed her bag and followed suit.

Turning on the shower and stripping out of her clothes, she was half tempted to use Rhys’ body wash again, so she could engulf herself in his scent, but decided against it. Feyre had plans for tonight. So she used her own shampoo and body wash that she had left at Rhys’ place on Thursday. He had suggested for her to leave some necessities, like make-up wipes or shampoo, things she would need daily, but didn’t want to bring over every time she came to his place. 

_ Because I hope you'll be staying over a lot in future _ , he had said with a little smirk that had made her stomach tighten and her heart flutter.

When she was done with her shower, she perused her bag for underwear and put her button down dress back on, but left out the thick knitted tights and her camisole. Feyre dried her hair at the roots, but left the rest of her hair slightly damp, so it could air-dry, causing her natural wave to come out and the ends to curl. She decided against putting on make-up, but dabbed on some perfume under her ears and on her wrist. 

She found Rhys in the kitchen, stirring something that looked like pasta. 

“Want an appetizer?” He looked over to her and his face grew impossibly soft. “You look adorable, by the way.” 

Feyre wrapped her arms around his middle and molded herself to his body. 

“What is the appetizer?”

“Bruschetta,” he replied, wrapping one arm around her and sniffing her hair. “Hmm, though you smell delicious enough for me to consider having you instead.” 

Feyre giggled and he bend lower to press his nose right under her ear, breathing her in. With a little kiss, he broke away, much to Feyre’s disappointment. 

“Unfortunately, I'm really hungry for food,” he said with a smirk. Feyre swatted his chest playfully and let go. 

“So where's my appetizer?” she asked, eyeing the pots and pans on the stove. 

“Just a second. Can you step back, please?” 

Rhys gently nudged her out of the way and opened the oven to take out some toasted bread. Sliding two small slices each onto a plate, he slathered on some toppings from a bowl. 

“Do you mind eating in here? I planned to have us sit down, but my time-management got the better of me. I need to watch the pasta and make the sauce.” 

Feyre didn't mind. She ate her Bruschetta while standing, watching Rhys whirl around the stove, preparing food. The first bite of the appetizer had her moan a little because of the taste, making Rhys go still and eye her out of the corner of his eyes. The topping was a delicious cold mix of diced tomato, sautéed onions, and basil, and it contrasted nicely with the still warm bread, which was coated with olive oil and rubbed with garlic. Feyre devoured her first slice and reached for the second.

“I take it’s good?” Rhys said smirking, while pulling the cork from a bottle of wine and pouring a glass for her. Feyre just nodded and continued chewing. 

Dinner was an equally simple, yet delicious affair. Rhys presented her with a dish of savoury pasta with shrimp, spinach and cream.

“Is that the standard Sunday evening affair, or did I just receive the distressed-girlfriend-special? Because right now I'm considering a professional career as damsel.” 

Feyre leaned back in her chair and rubbed her full belly. She had asked for seconds, not able to stop eating, despite not being hungry after the first plate. It was just too damn good. 

Rhys chuckled into his wineglass, his eyes dancing with amusement. “For you, Feyre darling, I'll do anything.” 

She smiled a lazy smile at him. “Don't complain when I actually take you up on that offer.”

They cleared up the dishes and settled onto the couch, Feyre half perched on his lap and half laying on his chest. Rhys held her in his arms and continuously stroked her hair, but didn’t ask her about the weekend or pressed her to talk. He had been very cautious with her the whole evening, careful not to push her. 

So instead, Feyre started talking on her own accord, retelling her weekend and laying out the details for him. Rhys didn’t interrupt, but he squeezed her shoulder or placed a kiss on her head whenever he thought she needed it and continued applying soothing strokes to her hair and back.

“Really, if it hadn't been for me being so anxious about Tamlin showing up at the airport, I might have laughed my ass off.” Feyre snickered and shifted a bit to get more comfortable. “Nesta was glaring daggers at everyone and Elain kept clutching my arm, trying to keep me behind her back and drag me forward to walk at the same time. She was even more nervous than Nesta, every sound making her jump. They distracted me from panicking though.” 

Following Rhys advice, Feyre had asked her sisters to go to the airport with her, because she suspected Tamlin might try to show up. To her surprise, both of them had come with her, being all vigilant and hyper nervous. They probably wouldn’t have been able to prevent Tamlin from physically reaching Feyre, but their presence had been reassuring.

“Nesta actually tried to bring me all the way to the plane, but they wouldn’t let her through the security check in. So she got a bit… rambunctious.” 

Only Elain being there to calm Nesta had saved her from being dragged away by airport security. 

Rhys shook his head, smiling.

“Before I meet your sisters, I demand a full list of things to avoid around Nesta, so I don’t accidently set her off,” he jested. 

Feyre gave him a broad smile. “There’s no way in hell you won’t, so don’t bother.” She giggled at his horrified expression.

They grew comfortably silent again, Feyre fighting against sleep. She still had plans, she couldn’t fall asleep now. But being in Rhys arms was unfairly comfortable.

“Did you see him at the airport?”

That fast, Feyre was wide awake again, looking up to Rhys. Her chin was digging into his pectoral, so she slid a hand underneath beneath her chin and his chest and gazed at the wonderful man before her.

“No. If he was there, I didn’t see him. It was really busy though. For all I knew, he could have been.” 

In fact, Feyre had flinched whenever she had caught a glimpse of blond hair in her periphery, or when a person walked too fast towards them, fearing it was Tamlin coming to drag her away by force. Rhys was silent for another moment, probably thinking about all that she had said.

“And you really just gave away all your stuff? Didn’t you want to keep it?” he asked suddenly. 

Really? This was what bothered him? Feyre sighed in exasperation. 

“Tamlin was always buying me stuff. It was nice at first, because when were growing up, we couldn’t afford much. We got most of our clothes from the thrift shop or second-hand. But he just kept buying me stuff as apology, or to make me shut up, or to distract me. Just receiving objects didn’t make me happy, no matter how pretty or valuable they were. There was no thought behind his presents. He never considered what I liked. And most of the clothes and jewelry he gave me were his taste, not mine. Like I was a doll for him to dress up.” Feyre shuddered. “I left all that stuff behind on purpose. I didn’t want it. But throwing it away didn’t seem right, so I donated everything. Just because I don’t want it doesn’t mean someone else doesn’t have use for it.” 

Rhys raised an eyebrow at her. “So I don’t get to give you jewelry?”  

Feyre rolled her eyes at him, but smiled. “You can get me jewelry if you want, only I can’t promise I’ll like it. I care more about the thought someone put into a present. Like a certain someone cooking me a nice dinner after a shitty weekend. I would always have that over a piece of jewelry.”

Rhys smiled at her fondly. “So you liked dinner?”

“Well, _ duh! _ ” Feyre rolled her eyes again, trying to fight down her smile.

“Where is my thank you, then?” he teased.

Feyre sat up and shifted in his lap, straddling him. Reaching out, she placed both hands on her either side of his face.

“Allow me to thank you for your thoughtful present, my lord,” she teased back and pressed her lips on his. 

Running the tip of her tongue over the seam of his lips, she asked for him to open and Rhys parted his lips in response. Feyre frenched him slowly - once, twice - before breaking the kiss and pulling back to look at him.

“Was that enough of my thanks?” she asked coyly. 

Rhys glowered at her. “No,” he growled and pulled her back down, crushing his lips to hers and biting her lower lip with another little growl. 

Feyre laughed softly into his mouth and retaliated by sucking hard on his lower lip. He immediately went hard under her and she shifted to align her center over his erection, grinding slowly. Rhys gasped and grabbed her hips, pushing his pelvis up and grinding back. Feyre inhaled sharply in response and exhaled with a little whimper when he hit her throbbing clit just right. Rhys’ eyes lit up at the sound and he pushed up again, causing Feyre to arch her back and throw back her head.

“Rhys,” she moaned, relishing the pressure he applied on the sensitive spot between her legs. He didn't respond, but dug his fingers deeper into the soft flesh of her hips, pulling her hard against him the moment he thrust upwards again, eliciting another moan from her. But Feyre wanted to feel more. She wanted to feel him. Without clothes. Inside of her. 

Shifting her weight to her knees, she raised herself up to break the contact and leaned forward to attack Rhys’ neck with biting kisses. Rhys used the opportunity to sneak a hand down her thigh and stroke the bare skin there, slowly inching higher, until he reached her behind. Cupping one cheek, he started kneading it softly. 

Feyre paused momentarily and pushed her rear against his palm. “Rhys?”

“What?” he asked alarmed, his hand freezing on her ass. “You want me to stop?”

“ _ Cauldron _ , no!” Feyre chuckled, kissing him again. “I just wanted to remind that certain promises were made to me by you on Thursday,” she said between kisses while throwing him a meaningful look. 

Understanding lit up in those violet depths. “You're period is over?”

Feyre merely gave him a seductive smile. Rhys sat up with Feyre still in his lap and pulled her flush against him. His mouth found her neck and she angled her head to give him better access.

“Can I hold you to those promises?” she asked breathily, while Rhys kissed his way down towards her collarbone, licking and nipping at her skin, tasting her.

“You damn well can,” he growled and started unbuttoning the collar of her dress, proceeding to kiss every inch of skin he exposed. 

Feyre cradled his head while he worked his way down button by button, playing with the soft black strands of hair and waiting for him to find her surprise. She knew he found it, when he suddenly stilled.

“What the -” Rhys exclaimed. 

A little triumphant smile played at Feyre’s lips when she looked down at Rhys, who was gaping at the bra he had just uncovered. 

It was her favourite. Worked as a bralette, it looked more like a sports bra with its wide, comfortable straps and a deep V-cut, the fabric extending some way down her ribcage. But it was made entirely of nude lace that matched her skin tone perfectly, safe for the occasional smattering of lilac lace flowers that, despite their color, somehow added to the illusion of nudity. The cups were beige as well and cut to only cover her nipples and give the slightest bit of support, blending in so well, you almost couldn't see them. It was incredible how sexy beige could be. 

Feyre looked positively naked wearing it. The illusion it created was enticing, hypnotizing even. When she had tried it on the first time in the store, she had gotten excited seeing herself wearing it, a flush overcoming her face. She could only imagine how a guy would react to the sight. 

_ Her _ guy was currently running a single finger over the lacy edge, following the V down and back up, still gaping. Cupping one breast, he gently squeezed it, the thin lace yielding to his touch and giving in more than a normal bra would have. Rhys swallowed, his eyes glazing over with desire and lust; his whole face a mask of want, longing and reverence. 

Feyre had never felt more beautiful, more desired in her life than in this very moment. His gaze on her felt like a brand, the way he looked at her making her tremble and shiver with arousal. A heavy, sweet ache was settling deep in her stomach and she welcomed it. It had been building for some time now, ever since their first touch, their first kiss. She was desperate for release. 

But Rhys was still staring at her chest in wonder, probing and testing the feel of lace and the flesh it covered under his fingers. If he was that fascinated by her bra, Feyre wondered what he had to say about the flimsy excuse of panties of the same design that she was wearing. 

As if he had read her mind, Rhys’ gaze snapped up to her and a wave of pure desire swept over Feyre at seeing the stark hunger in his eyes. 

“Tell me this is a set,” he said hoarsely.

Feyre just gave him a wicked little smile and shimmied her hips in his lap. Rhys closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath, too low for her to hear, while the let his fingers wander over her backside, checking for what she was wearing underneath her dress. When his fingers trailed the edge of the matching lace on the brazilian cut panties, a shudder racked his body and he exhaled in a shaky breath. 

“Feyre,” he groaned, burying his face in the valley of her breasts. “You’re killing me.”

“No,” she cooed, pulling his head away from her chest and tilting it upwards, giving him a bruising kiss that made him groan into her mouth. “Your killing  _ me _ . I’m gonna combust, if you don’t start touching me soon. I want you Rhys.  _ Please. _ ” 

With a feral snarl, Rhys pulled her dress up and over her shoulder, tossing it on the ground. Gripping her thighs, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, biting and sucking at her neck while doing so. 

Stopping by the bed, he practically threw her on it. Feyre landed on her back, looking up to Rhys, who was savagely ripping his own shirt and tee shirt off and paused to drink in the sight of her sprawled on his bed in her looking-like-naked underwear, his erection already straining against the fabric of his jeans. 

“Rhys,” she begged.

“Your mine,” he snarled and crawled on the bed, hovering over her. 

“I’m yours,” she repeated, taking his hand and placing it on one of her breasts. 

Rhys slid the hand between the lace and her skin, palming her breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers. In a sudden motion, he tugged at it sharply and Feyre gasped as the delicious pain shot from her nipple right into her belly. Rhys growled appreciatively and pushed aside the fabric to take her nipple into his mouth. Feyre cried out in pleasure. 

Releasing her breast, his hand traveled down and settled between her legs without further delay. The thin lace covering her sex did nothing to keep the wetness contained, so Rhys could feel how drenched she was when he ran his fingers lightly over her panties. Through the fabric, he pressed his thumb down on her swollen clit and Feyre jolted, as searing, scorching pleasure shot through her body. 

Rhys released her breast to look at her, as he lightly rubbed her clit through the wet lace, but Feyre was too consumed by pleasure to notice. She could already feel herself building. Stopping his massage, Rhys pushed the fabric aside, running a finger along her center. He swiped again, before slowly easing a finger inside of her. 

A sound she didn’t know she was capable of making escaped Feyre’s lips and she fisted her hands in the sheets, desperate to hold onto something. Rhys slowly started pumping his finger inside of her, only to withdraw it a moment later. She was about to protest, demand, beg, plead for him to continue, when he pushed two fingers in, pumping faster and harder now, his thumb back on her clit, rubbing while he thrust his fingers inside her at the same time. 

It didn’t take long for her to come and she shattered around his fingers, clenching her walls around them tightly while crying out his name.

“Feyre,” he said sharply, demanding her attention.

Blinking her eyes open, she looked at him to find him devouring her with his eyes. Bringing the fingers that he had just eased out of her to his lips, Rhys put them into his mouth, licking her juices off, his eyes never leaving hers while he was doing so. Feyre wanted him so badly, it hurt.

“As much as I like that fabulous underwear, Feyre darling, it has to come off now,” he purred, unbuttoning his jeans and taking them off together with his underwear. 

His erection sprang free and Feyre licked her lips, making sure he saw. He chuckled darkly and bend forwards to kiss her, while reaching around to unfasten the clasp of her bralette. 

“No, darling, none of that. Now is my turn to make you feel good,” he muttered onto her lips.

She gave him a little pout, but soon forgot what she was pouting about, when he was focusing his attention on her breasts, pinching and rolling one nipple between his fingers while sucking and biting the other. Although she had just come, Feyre wanted him to touch her again. 

But Rhys had other things in mind, she realized, as he slowly kissed his way down her body, lingering only to nibble at her hipbone and hook his fingers into the waistband of her lace panties. He continued kissing down her thigh all the way to her knee, dragging her panties down with him slowly. Taking them off, he picked up one leg, pressed a little kiss onto her calf, and then propped the leg onto his shoulder. 

Following the line of her inner thigh, he kissed and licked his way upwards. Feyre’s wasn’t sure she was breathing when he slipped his tongue between her folds and licked her in a great, languid swipe. They moaned in unison, Feyre at the sensation and Rhys at her taste. 

Working her in great sweeping strokes, Rhys feasted on her until her legs were trembling, a shiver running up and down her body with every brush of this tongue against her clit. She was delirious from the sensory overload, the feeling too much for her to bear. Or so she thought, until he covered the throbbing bundle of nerves with his lips and started sucking on it while flicking the tip of his tongue against it at the same time. 

Feyre came, hard and sudden, screaming his name without restraint. She nudged his head, indicating that she was done, but Rhys kept his mouth where it was and before the first orgasm had even fully subsided, a second wave hit her even harder, drowning her in pleasure. 

“Rhys, stop,  _ stop, stop _ !” she begged, sobbing and barely conscious, tugging at his hair to pull him away from her oversensitive flesh. 

He finally released her, crawling up to softly kiss her pubic mound and to rest his head on her stomach with a smug smile, letting her come down from her high.

Feyre ran her fingers through his hair, limp from pleasure and multiple orgasms, and tried to calm her breathing.

“That was…,” she managed to choke out, before words failed her. 

Rhys chuckled and kissed her stomach. “I’m not done yet though,” he declared. 

He looked up to her then, a sensual promise in his eyes that had her instantly ready for him again. She nodded and he raised himself and reached over to the bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a condom. 

Feyre watched as he opened the foil package and carefully rolled the condom down. He looked at her again, his eyes sweeping all over her body, lingering on the place between her thighs. Feyre angled her knees and spread her legs in invitation, baring herself fully for him.

Rhys came over her, propping himself on one elbow and giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked, caressing her face tenderly, concern overtaking his desire for her momentarily. 

Feyre knew he would stop immediately if she asked him to, even in the middle of it and despite his own needs. But she wanted him. So she wrapped her hand around his shaft and guided him to her entrance. 

“Yes. I want you. Please, Rhys,” she pleaded. 

He gave her another kiss, more heated this time and lightly pushed against her, probing for the way in. Feyre let go of him when he was lined up with her entrance, but he didn't push inside. Instead he kept nudging at her entrance, teasing her. 

“Play later,” she snarled at him, grabbing his ass and trying to pull him towards her -  _ into _ her. 

Rhys huffed a little laugh that turned into a moan when he finally sheathed himself inside her in a long, slow thrust.

Having climaxed just earlier, she was tighter and more sensitive than usual, so the feeling of him filling her, stretching her walls, was almost too much. Feyre whimpered and clutched at his back. Rhys rested his head in the crook of her neck and stilled after he had pushed himself in to the hilt, letting them both adjust. 

“Fey, you're so tight,” he groaned. She tightened around him even more in response, making him gasp. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she breathed, “please don't stop.”

He pulled out almost all the way and pushed back in slowly, almost torturously slow. Feyre felt like she was bursting out of her skin with pleasure.

“I honestly don’t think I can last long like this,” he whispered into her ear, sucking her earlobe into his mouth, while giving another slow thrust. “I almost came eating you out,” he confessed and bit down on the soft flesh the same time he snapped his hips into her, thrusting harder this time and making her cry out.

Fisting her fingers into his hair, Feyre tugged at his hair sharply to make him face her, so she could taste that sinful mouth of his.

“You don't need to last,” she ground out between kisses. “Just fuck me.” 

The growl that left his throat was purely animalistic and a feral glint sparked in his eyes. Letting go of all restraint, he pulled out and slammed back into her hard and fast. Feyre threw her head back and dug her fingers into his shoulders. Grabbing her ass and raising her hips slightly, Rhys pounded into her, the new angle having him fit much deeper. Feyre screamed when he hit her back wall, but didn't ask him to stop. Sweat was soon coating Rhys’ back, chest and forehead and Feyre felt her own face and body grow damp.

It didn't take long for her to build again and by this time she was a sobbing mess, too overcome with pleasure to do anything but scream out incoherent words that might have been his name, or a plea, or a prayer at every thrust he made into her body. 

Rhys suddenly sat back and grabbed her thighs, pulling her knees up to his chest and holding them in place. When he slammed back into her this time, he hit her G-spot square on. It took only a couple more thrusts for her to fractured around him, her orgasm dragged out by Rhys’ continued pounding, before he, too, came. 

Choking out a strangled moan, he tensed up and went still as he ejaculated, shudders wracking his body with every wave. Feyre could feel them by the way his length twitched as he spilled himself inside of her. It took a few seconds for him to finish and then he relaxed, the tension seeping out of him. 

He immediately eased out of her, securing condom with one hand so it wouldn't slip, and Feyre let out a little whimper, both because of the sudden motion and the loss of contact. She would have liked for him to remain inside of her and cuddle, but she understood that with the condom, this wasn't really an option. Rhys saw her disappointment and kissed her in apology. 

“I'll be right back, Fey. I need to get rid of the condom.”

He stood up and walked out, giving her a great view of his beautiful backside. If she weren't so exhausted, she would have considered pouncing on him, but her limbs felt like lead and her belly was now filled with a different kind of ache, the sort one got after they relaxed muscles that had been tense for a long while; a dull, heavy feeling that was somehow relaxing, reminding her that there was a part of her body she usually didn't get to feel. Not like this, anyways.

Rhys came back to find her like he left her, not having moved an inch. Picking up his boxer briefs and putting them on, he lay down next to her and pulled her into his arms. 

Feyre molded her body against his and pressed her nose in the little hollow between his collarbones, breathing him in with closed eyes. Rhys ran his fingers down her spine and rested a hand on her bare rear. 

“Say darling, do you have more of that exquisitely naughty underwear?” he asked after a while. 

Ferye smiled, her eyes still closed, relishing the way his body was pressed against hers. “Not as many as you'd like, I think.” 

“Would you like me to gift you some then? I mean I could buy you jewelry or clothes, but I like seeing you better without clothes anyways. Or in something sheer and lacy, if you must wear anything at all,” he purred. 

Feyre opened her eyes to look at him with raised eyebrows. “And, pray tell me, what would the thought behind such a present be?” 

Rhys gave a smouldering look. “To ravish you wholly while you're wearing it.”

A delicious shiver trickled down her spine and Feyre pulled him down for a lazy kiss. Rhys chuckled, but responded eagerly.

“I take this as a yes then?” he teased, running his hand over her back. Feyre stretched her spine like a cat.

“Only if I get to come with you and pick them out.” 

“Deal,” he said and planted a little kiss on her shoulder. “You could try them on for me in the store, so I can help you pick out the ones you look  _ ravishing _ in.” 

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. The pun was so bad, Feyre couldn’t help it - she burst out laughing.

There she was, lying in bed, naked and spent after a tumble in the sheets, laughing her ass off, because her boyfriend had made a bad pun. That he had managed to cheer her up this much was incredible. No small feat after a weekend like hers. She was so ridiculously happy, she could have died without regrets right this very moment. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, still laughing, wiping tears out of her eyes. Rhys grinned like a fool.

“You love that I’m ridiculous!” he claimed. Feyre giggled and pushed him onto his back, laying down on his chest to peer into his face.

“Yes, I love that you’re ridiculous. I love how you make me laugh. I love that after a shitty weekend, that leaves me feeling vulnerable and anxious, all I need for me to feel better is to see your face and get a hug. I love how you make me feel safe and cared for. And I love being with you, because you make me incredibly happy, Rhysand.”

Rhys blushed a deep red and crushed her into his chest, pressing her face against his skin so she couldn’t see his burning cheeks anymore. Feyre was heady with bliss, and she snickered into his chest as she continued, “and I love how you blush for me, and I lo-”

“Enough, you wicked, cruel woman! Haven’t you tortured me enough! First with your lewd underwear and now with your words! What is it that you want, Feyre?” Rhys yelled in mock indignation, incredibly embarrassed by her confession. 

Still laughing, Feyre freed herself of the cage of his arms and pushed some wayward locks out of his brow as she gazed at him fondly.

“Nothing. I want absolutely nothing,” she declared with a beatific smile. “I have everything I want.”


	17. Chapter 17

“We should talk about contraception.”

Feyre put down her coffee mug and blinked. What better way to start the day, than one’s boyfriend talking birth prevention over breakfast. She was not used to a guy wanting to talk about it,  _ Cauldron _ , to even think about it. Mostly, it was just something guys expected her to take care of. But, well, Rhys wasn’t most guys and he certainly was doing a lot of things she wasn’t used to. So she didn’t hesitate to say her next words.

“I’m not going to take the pill.” 

Feyre watched his reaction closely. Tamlin would have either toppled over the table in rage by now, demanding she took it regardless of her opinion in that matter, or scrolled through his phone in search for baby clothes and the most expensive crib that money could buy. 

Rhys simply blinked, surprised maybe at her immediate answer, and said, “Okay. What are our other options?”

_ Our _ options. She had known he would react differently from what she was used to or expected, but that really threw her off her game.

“You don’t want to know why I won’t take the pill?” she asked, flabbergasted. 

Rhys shrugged.  _ Shrugged! _

“I figure you have your reasons and you don’t have to justify them to me. Not if it concerns your body. I won’t force you to take the pill if you don’t want to. We can continue using condoms, but to be honest, I would be more comfortable with something that got a higher pearl index. I wouldn’t want to get you pregnant by accident. I mean you're still in school and I’m busy with my PhD and we just started going out last week.”

“Seriously, can you stop being such a Cauldron damned marvel?” Feyre said in amazement. 

Rhys furrowed his brow in question. “What do you mean?” 

Feyre shook her head with a little laugh, trying to get over the fact that her boyfriend was just so damn wonderful. 

“I used to take the pill, but my body didn’t react well,” she clarified. “I tried several kinds, but they all had noticeable side effects. And I’m kind of sloppy at taking them. I would leave them at home or forget to take them when I was busy. So it’s not an option for me.”

Somehow, not needing to tell him her reasons made her want do it so much more. After this weekend, something had burst open inside of her; like a dam, that usually held her feelings and thoughts contained, had broken and they all came spilling forward. 

Rhys smiled a little and took her hand in his over the table. 

“Definitely, not an option then. It's not worth it, if it makes you feel like shit.”

His eyes shone with warmth, adoration and - love. Really, there was no way denying it. 

_ I’m in love with you. _ Feyre almost said it, but opted for picking her coffee back up and flooding her mouth with more coffee, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks. 

“I'll try to get an appointment with my doctor this week or next. We should figure this out soon,” she said as put down her mug again.

Rhys’ eyes danced with amusement and his smile turned slightly lewd. Feyre knew where his thoughts had wandered to and blushed deeper. 

After her declaration of all the things she loved about him last night, Rhys had chosen a more hands on method to show her exactly what parts of her  _ he _ loved, which ended with Feyre falling asleep all sweaty and completely depleted before he returned from the bathroom the second time. 

This morning, she woke in his arms with him spooning her. And although her body still felt like jello, feeling the hard length of his morning wood digging into her backside had her grind her behind against it, consequently waking him up. She made sure to take care of his little morning problem, as she straddled and rode him slowly, taking her time and drawing it out as long as possible. 

And afterwards, after their needs had been sated for the moment, they still couldn't keep their hands to themselves, constantly touching and kissing whatever part of the other’s body came within their reach. Even right now, Feyre had half a mind to crawl over the table, sit down on top of it, and spread her legs to offer herself for breakfast. The thought alone made her squirm in her seat.

Rhys chuckled darkly and released her hand to run a finger up her bare forearm. He too must have guessed her thoughts from her expression. 

“As soon as possible it seems” he drawled, shooting her a look filled with lust. His fingers left gooseflesh in their wake. Feyre nodded, her mouth suddenly going very dry.

“But first we should take a shower. You have a classes and work today, right?”

Feyre eyed the clock sitting on one of the bookshelves and swore. 

“Uh, yes. I have to be at school in an hour.” Having been distracted by their sexy escapades, Feyre had completely forgotten the time. She was still covered in sweat and body juices, probably smelling like sex and arousal - and Rhys. And she wouldn't be able to stop at home on the way to school to deposit her bags, regardless of whether she left now or took a shower first. 

“I will have to take my bags with me to school,” she sighed in frustration, talking more to herself than to him. 

“You can leave them here and come pick them up later,” he offered and stood from the table, holding out his hand for her. 

Feyre stood and took it. He pulled her a bit closer and encircled her with his arms, loosely clasping his hands behind her back. Standing so close, Feyre had to tilt her head back to look up at him. 

“I told you, Fey, my place is yours. What's mine is yours now and you're welcome to use all of it however you like,” he said softly, a tender expression on his face. Feyre placed her hands on his chest and smiled sweetly.

“And you're mine, too?” she asked, remembering the way he had claimed her last night with words, before claiming her body. Rhys lowered his head so he could rest his forehead against hers and drew her a bit closer.

“I am,” he breathed softly, his voice laced with emotion. “And you’re mine.”

“I am,” she answered and placed a delicate kiss on his lips. “And what’s mine is yours now and you’re welcome to use all of it however you like,” she added with a coy smile.

“Oh?” he replied, cocking an eyebrow, a dangerous glint sparking in his eyes. 

Feyre shrieked when he suddenly picked her up and threw her over one shoulder. He smacked her behind once before carrying her into the shower and showing her just how exactly he liked to use what was hers - and now his, too.

☽✴☾

They eased into the dynamic of their new relationship effortlessly.

Feyre usually stayed over two to three times a week, but still got time and space for herself whenever she needed it. Rhys was clingy in a physical sense, but he didn’t demand her undiluted attention at all times of the day. Sometimes a whole day would pass without them seeing or writing each other, because they both were busy with school or work. They were in a relationship with each other, but they were still themselves.

They tried staying at her place once, to mix things up, but one night in her single bed had both of them convinced that they much prefered Rhys’ queen sized one. Being tall as he was, Rhys wouldn’t fit in a single, his feet dangling off the bed. And lying diagonally, like he did at home, was not an option, especially not with Feyre occupying space as well. 

So after a night of fitful sleep, caused by much shifting, intertwined limbs and sharp elbows, Rhys had woken with an aching back and a foul mood that didn’t get better when Feyre wouldn’t stop cracking old men jokes. Only threatening to break up with her had made her stop.

Two weeks breezed by like this, and Feyre was giddy with happiness, but a nasty little voice in the back of her head kept her from being able to enjoy it fully. The more time passed, the bigger a particular doubt grew: what if she was making it up in her head? 

She didn’t trust her own judgement of Rhys’ character. After all, she had convinced herself that she had been happy with Tamlin, too, that she had been in love with him and that he had been a good guy. Maybe she was doing the same with Rhys? She was fairly sure that this wasn’t the case, that Rhys was really as wonderful as she saw him, but she needed a certain person to confirm it for her. 

The one person she trusted even more than herself.

“I would like you to meet Alis.”

Rhys looked up from the papers he was pouring over at his desk. 

“Sure.”

“Sure?” Feyre huffed a breath and threw herself back onto the couch cushions. “Sure, he says.” 

Noticing her foul mood, Rhys gave up his papers and sauntered over to the couch to join her, sidestepping stacks of printouts and textbooks that were strewn all over the place. Feyre had claimed the couch as her territory and regularly made a mess whenever she was over. 

Rhys plucked her laptop from her hands and set it down on the coffee table, before picking up her legs and sliding underneath them to sit down, her legs now draped over his lap. Brushing his fingers through her golden-brown tresses, he took in her face. She knew he could read her like an open book and knew there was something bothering her.

“What is it?” 

“Aren’t you nervous about meeting Alis?” she asked. She certainly was.

“No. Not yet anyways. Maybe I'll be when I meet her. Should I be nervous?”  He gave her big puppy eyes. 

Feyre snorted. “Don't worry. One look at your stupidly handsome face will have her swoon,” she grumbled and Rhys smirked at the backhanded compliment. 

Resting his head on her shoulder, he shifted her a bit around, so she was half in his lap. Feyre automatically buried her fingers in his hair, stroking the soft strands and applying a soft massage to his scalp. She couldn't keep her fingers out of his hair. Rhys purred in satisfaction. 

“Are you worried about what Alis will say about me?” he murmured after a while. 

Of course he had guessed right at what was troubling her. 

“Damn you, you insufferable prick, I told you to stay out of my head!” she complained.

Rhys smirked up at her. “Only when you stay out of mine!” he retorted.

They could easily guess each other's thoughts at any given time. At first, Feyre thought Rhys was just unusually perceptive in general, and well, he was, but as the weeks passed, she almost believed that they had some sort of special connection. Like her mind was open to his and vice versa. 

Two days ago, for example, when they had watched the news, some local politician was shown giving a campaign speech and Feyre couldn't help but notice his almost comically plump lips, which looked totally out of place in a politician’s face. 

_ I wouldn't trust those lips to make good politics _ , she thought to herself and gave a little amused smirk. 

Looking over to Rhys, she was about to point that out, when he turned towards her, his gaze flickering to her lips momentarily, and he gave a little smirk of his own. She knew then he had been thinking exactly the same, especially when he suggestively smacked his lips. Feyre had started giggling and they fist bumped. 

They kept having more and more moments like this and with time it dawned on her that it was not some special connection, or Rhys being perceptive, but their minds working the same way. When she thought she could predict or read his thoughts, it was usually just her thinking the very same thing.

Which was why she asked, “Are you worried about me meeting Mor?”

Rhys stiffened imperceptibly and thought for a good, long while before he answered. 

“I might be? I'm not sure myself. I'm positive you'll get along great. Then again, what about if you don't? I think I’m more worried about that possibility, improbable as it might be.” Feyre caressed the shell of his ear as he gazed up to her, his face turning wistful. “I wouldn’t know what to do, if you and my family didn’t get along. I’m pretty sure it would break my heart.” 

Feyre felt her own heart give a pang. She cradled his head against her chest and rested her cheek on the top of it. There was no need for words, for their fears were the same. 

Both of them knew they wouldn’t choose their family and friends over the other, but they were feeling too much for each other already to be able to walk away without suffering greatly. 

Feyre gave a deep sigh and stroked his hair.

“Let’s invite them over this weekend. Any ideas?”

☽✴☾

“So you must be Alis.” 

Feyre rolled her eyes as Rhys gave her best friend his trademark smirk. 

She had been right; one look at Rhys’ face and Alis was swooning. She hadn’t even entered the apartment yet, Rhys simply opening the door and smiling at her had her freeze on the doorstep.

They had decided on hosting a board game night at Rhys’ place and invited both Alis and Mor. According to Rhys, the latter had squealed when Rhys told her about Feyre and demanded to meet her immediately, only work had kept her busy the last couple of weeks. She couldn’t make it today either. When Feyre had asked, what Mor’s job was, Rhys had been strangely evasive, saying it was her story to tell and she would find out soon enough. So instead of Mor, his foster-brother Cassian would join them today. 

“By all means, come in.” Rhys held his arm out in an inviting gesture and Alis stepped in, giving him one of her rare, lovely smiles and engulfing Feyre in a hug. 

“Thank you for having me!”

“I wouldn’t miss getting to know you, after everything Feyre told me about you,” Rhys tone was light, but Feyre knew he meant what he had said. 

Alis shrugged off her coat and handed it to Feyre, who hung it for her, before turning to Rhys.

“And I wouldn’t miss getting to know you after the little Feyre had told me about you,” she said in her typical blunt Alis way. 

Rhys beamed at her.

“Now that is something we should set right,” he purred. 

_ Smooth bastard _ , Feyre thought grumbling. She was nervous as hell, but he seemed to thrive.

Rhys ushered them to the living room, where they had set up the table in the middle of the room for their board game night. Feyre dragged Alis with her on the couch to sit down, while remained Rhys standing.

“What can I get you to drink? Some wine? I have beer too, or a soft drink?”

“A glass of wine would be nice, thank you,” Alis said, her dark skin hiding the blush Feyre just  _ knew  _ was there. Rhys nodded and looked to Feyre, who could read the unspoken question in his eyes.  _ You want some wine, too?  _ She inclined her head as confirmation and in thanks and Rhys left to fetch them their drinks.

“How are the boys?” Feyre asked, turning to Alis. The latter gave her an odd look in return.

“You think I want to talk about the boys now?” Alis asked incredulously. “I’d rather talk about that gorgeous specimen of a boyfriend you managed to get your hands on.”

Feyre threw her hands up in despair. 

“Please, by all means, inflate his ego even more. It’s not like it isn’t already big enough to need its own chair at the table.”

They could hear a distinct cough coming through the open living room door from the kitchen. 

Feyre bit down on her lip to keep herself from smiling and threw Alis a meaningful look. Alis snickered softly and told her how Bran, the youngest, had fallen in love at first sight with the new babysitter. He had practically shoved Alis out of the door and then raced back to the girl, throwing himself at her, before his brother, Ron, could hog all her attention, no less smitten with the babysitter.

Just then, Rhys returned with their wine, handing one glass to Alis with another one of his dazzling smiles, before sitting down behind Feyre, who carefully plucked hers from his hand that was holding both of their glasses. Rhys slung one arm around Feyre’s middle and Feyre leaned her back against his chest in an unconscious motion, relaxing into his loose embrace. Only Alis’ keen eyes flickering to Rhys hand for a second where it loosely rested on her thigh made her aware of what they must look like. Sitting close and hugging like this had somehow become natural to her. 

“So Alis, Feyre mentioned you work close to university?” Rhys asked. 

“Yes. I work at a company specializing in translation management and we often work together with the linguistics department at Velaris U for research purposes. I’m part of the project department and I oversee the projects given out to students, taking care of problems that arise. Sometimes I feel like a general drudge or a maid, always cleaning up their messes.”

Rhys looked to Feyre for confirmation of his unspoken suspicion. 

_ She is the linguist friend you mentioned?  _

She nodded and added out loud, “Alis is very good at taking care of people.” 

Rhys knew then that she was the friend who had gotten her out of Tamlin’s place.

“So I’ve heard,” he said, turning his attention back to Alis and smiling softly at her, causing her to blush visibly this time. “What does translation management entail, exactly? I’m afraid, I have no clue.”

Alis then launched into a description of her field of work, Rhys listening attentively and asking questions. 

Feyre snuggled closer into Rhys, sipping her wine, happy to watch the exchange between her best friend and boyfriend. Alis was smiling and seemed relaxed, charmed by Rhys and his genuine interest in her work. Feyre hadn’t expected it to be otherwise, but she was incredibly relieved they apparently got along great. To completely erase her doubts, she still needed to hear Alis’ opinion of him though.

She got her chance when they heard the doorbell.

“That must be Cassian,” Rhys explained. 

Feyre made an attempt to rise from the couch, but Rhys pulled her back down, planted a soft kiss on her temple, and got up instead. “I’ll get the door. You and Alis stay here.”

Feyre smiled up and him, nervousness flaring up slightly.  _ His brother.  _ She was going to meet his brother. Rhys smiled back and walked out, closing the door behind him to give them the opportunity to talk without being overheard. 

Feyre turned to Alis expectantly. “And?”

Alis gazed at her, levelly.

“You only know each other for, how long? Three, four weeks?” 

Feyre nodded and waited for Alis’ verdict, her muscles tensing up as nervous anticipation held her in its grip. From the hallway, she could hear Rhys’ dark purring and a booming bass.

“You behave around each other as if you’ve know each other for years, not weeks. It’s strange. In a good way. He seems nice,” Alis said simply.

Feyre was sure her legs would have given out if she had been standing when relief coursed through her. The tension left her body with a great whoosh of air and Feyre deflated like a souflé. 

“I’ll be keeping an eye on him though,” Alis threatened and Feyre leaped at her, hugging her tightly. 

“Of course you will. I love you, Alis.” Feyre planted a sloppy, wet kiss on Alis’ cheek.

“I love you, too,” Alis said, patting her back.

“Huh. And there I thought you invited me over to meet your new girlfriend. Either you got a two-for-one deal, or she left you for better,” a loud, deep voice suddenly said. 

Feyre and Alis let go of each other and swirled towards the door. They hadn’t heard Rhys and his brother enter. Feyre stood up quickly to greet him, Alis following suit.

Feyre knew they weren’t related by blood, but they somehow resembled each other. 

Cassian had the same black hair and tan skin as Rhys, only longer. But where Rhys’ handsomeness leaned more towards beauty, Cassian was handsome in a rugged manner. His face was all strong, harsh lines and planes, accentuated by his hair being pulled back in a manbun. Thick brows overshadowed hazel eyes, that held a boisterous look, and his shapely lips were parted in a shit-eating grin. And he was  _ big.  _ Half a head taller than Rhys, he was all hard, thick muscle. They got a good look at his well formed arms, when he crossed them in front of his chest, his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt. 

Feyre wasn’t into the bodybuilding type, but  _ damn _ , he was hot. For Alis’ sake, she hoped he was single. 

“Uhm, hi. I’m Feyre. And this is Alis.” 

Cassian eyed them both, winked at Alis and turned back to Feyre.

“I’m Cassian, but I think you know that. So you are the reason I was late to dinner last month.” Cassian’s grin grew even wider. 

“To be fair, it was your idiot brother that got sidetracked all by himself. I was sleeping, like I intended to be in the first place. With my clothes on,” Feyre shot back, mirroring his stance and crossing her arms. 

Cassian threw his head back and barked out a laugh before walking over and engulf her in a bear-hug. “Oh I like you! We’re going to have so much fun together, Feyre!” 

“Hey! Hands off my girl!” 

Rhys had gone to fetch a beer for Cassian, only to find his girlfriend crushed into his brother’s chest. Chuckling, Cassian let go of a slightly perplexed Feyre and turned to Alis.

“You got an equally sharp tongue, lady?” 

Alis gave him her best mom stare. “Sharper.”

This earned her a Cassian hug, too. 

“Stop sexually harassing the girls, you big oaf.” 

Rhys planted an apologetic kiss to Feyre’s cheek and slapped Cassian’s back, so he would release Alis, who looked befuddled besides her best attempts to appear unfazed. 

Feyre felt for her friend. Even she, who was crazy about Rhys, couldn’t help but get a little excited being held by the big guy. Well, of course that could have been because he  _ did _ look a lot like Rhys with that raven hair and his skin of burnt gold. 

Suddenly, Feyre gasped as the realization hit her. He looked  _ Illyrian. _

Her gaze flickered between Rhys and Cassian, drinking in the shared features. Yes, he must be Illyrian, she concluded. Rhys mentioned his mother taking his brothers in, his mother, who had been Illyrian. Rhys, noticing her staring, raised an eyebrow at her.

“Is he Illyrian?” Feyre asked in a hushed voice. 

Rhys smirked at her and nodded faintly. Feyre glanced back towards Cassian, who was engaged in a conversation with Alis, finally having released her. 

If he was Illyrian, and they grew up together, then maybe…

She snapped her head back to Rhys, staring at him with wide eyes. He raised his other eyebrow. Feyre tapped at her chest to indicate what information she was after. 

Rhys chuckled darkly and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. 

“Yes, he got them too.”

Feyre gasped, excited.

“Cassian!” 

Cassian looked up and turned to Feyre, surprised at her sharp tone. “Yes?”

“Get naked!” 

Alis stared at her open-mouthed and beside her, Feyre could feel Rhys shake with suppressed laughter, but Cassian merely grinned at her, puffing up his chest.

“Sweetheart, I’m flattered you so obviously prefer me over my brother, but shouldn’t we go to the bedroom for that? Or at least somewhere your boyfriend isn’t watching?”

“Here, bedroom, with or without Rhys - doesn’t matter. Get that shirt of, now!” she barked in command, stalking over to him. 

She would rip his shirt off, if she needed to.

“Feyre what is going on?” Alis whispered confused and slightly taken aback. She looked over to Rhys, which confused her even more, because he was obviously trying very hard not to laugh.

Cassian didn’t seem to mind his brother’s girlfriend demanding him to strip on their first meeting, because he quickly started unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the whorls of the Illyrian tattoos Feyre had hoped to find. She gasped ecstatic and almost touched them, before catching herself. This was not Rhys, but his brother. Still, she really wanted to examine the swirls of ink.

“Can I take pictures sometime?” she asked. Cassian cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head.

“Only topless or completely nude?”

Rhys couldn’t hold it any longer. He doubled over in laughter, clutching at his sides. Alis was still standing with her mouth slightly open, baffled at Feyre’s delight over a half-naked Cassian. Only when she glimpsed the tattooed on his chest, she understood. 

“Ooooooh…,” she said. 

Feyre beamed at her. “Aren't they beautiful?” she sighed in adoration. 

Cassian gave a little cough to cover his laugh. 

Rhys didn't have any such restraints. He was still bellowing, but came over to hug Feyre and intercept her twitching fingers before she gave in to her desires and shamelessly fondled his brother like she had done with him that first time she had laid eyes on his tattoos.

Feyre looked up to Cassian. “You're brother Azriel, does he -”

“Yes darling, we all got them,” Rhys purred close to her ear and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“When do I get to meet him?” Feyre almost squealed with excitement. 

“And there I thought we had something special, love,” muttered Cassian, his shit-eating grin back on his face, as he buttoned up his shirt. 

Yep. That cocky attitude - they were definitely brothers.

“I still want those pictures, Cassian!” she said, frowning at the fabric that now hid her research interest. 

“I tell you what: you beat me at one game, you can take as many pictures as you want,” grinning down at her. 

Feyre really wanted to smack his grin out of his face. Instead she gave him one in return. 

“Deal!” 

Rhys let go of her and went to the table to pull out a chair for Alis. 

“You better sit while I get the hard stuff,” he told her, half sighing, half chuckling. “This'll be a long night.”

☽✴☾

It was war. 

Being competitive as she was, Feyre hated nothing more than to lose. And neither did Cassian, nor - to her surprise -Rhys. 

They were savagely ripping into each other over the board game version of Game of Thrones, sweet Alis enduring their shouting and insults with a quiet smile and a steady refill of wine; courtesy of Rhys, who still remembered the purpose of the evening was to get himself acquainted with her.

Feyre, however, had abandoned all attempts to be nice to Cassian while she conquered another castle from him, shooting him a smug look and earning a snarl in return. Cassian got his revenge a turn later, when he squashed her forces between two of his cleverly positioned armies. 

Feyre and Alis had learned, that he used to serve in the army for several years, climbing ranks quickly. When he retired two years ago, he started his own security company. 

His background gave him an unfair advantage, but Feyre made up for her lack of strategic prowess with some unconventional moves he couldn't predict, laying out traps and snares and catching him whenever he underestimated her. 

Rhys, however, played on a whole different level. Hiding behind his smirk that Feyre found more and more irritating the later it got (and the more of Rhys’ homemade fruit liquors they consumed, because yes, that was a secret hobby of his), he pulled moves neither Feyre nor Cassian saw coming. He had planned them out carefully over several turns, taking a beating every now and then, only to spring his trap close to the end of the game and unleash his master plan, making both of their armies fall apart and seizing castles left and right as he went. 

But it was Alis who won the game in the end. Left with Pyke, the smallest, most unassuming territory, the others hadn't bothered with her from the beginning. So she had snatched up one castle after another, unseen and unnoticed by Feyre and Cassian, who were too focused to scream at and ridicule each other, and Rhys, who had not included her in his elaborate trap. 

When had destroyed Feyre and Cassian, but had to wait for his next turn to seize their last castles and earn the number he needed to win, Alis simply took the three castles she was missing and that Rhys involuntary left undefended, ending the game in one turn. 

After they had recovered from the shock, Cassian, Rhys and Feyre screamed for retribution, but it was too late to start another round, so they decided on cards instead. 

This time, Alis didn't hide her abilities, dealing one vicious hand after another, bringing Cassian close to tears and Rhys to fetch another bottle of liquor to drown their sorrows in. 

Feyre, who was hopeless at card games, had stopped trying long ago and instead started feeling up Rhys under the table. The look he gave her, when she slid her fingers a bit too high on his thigh and grazed the hardness she found there, promised a different kind of retribution when they were both alone.

By the end of the evening, when Alis was about to deal her final hand, Cassian was begging, promising her anything, if she just spared him. 

“Anything?” she asked, basking in his desperation.

“Anything. Whatever you want!” 

Cassian would have probably sunk on his knees, if he weren't so damn drunk after doing liquor shots with Feyre all evening, another unspoken competition between them. 

Alis gave him one of her lovely smiles, one that lit up her whole face and made her warm brown eyes glow. Feyre knew something terrible was about to happen.

“Then get naked, so Feyre can take those pictures.” 

Cassian groaned and buried his head in his arms and Feyre let out a mad laugh, circled the table on unsteady feet, and smothered Alis with a hug, slathering a wet kiss on her mouth, her own sticky with Rhys’ sweet, homemade strawberry liquor. 

☽✴☾

“Rhys?”

“Hm?” 

The vibrations of the sound, produced low in his throat, transferred from his lips to where he had them pressed against her body and made her tremble in response.

“Is Cassian single?” 

Rhys stopped and raised his head, looking up to her from between her legs, where his tongue had just executed retribution for her finger’s earlier crimes.

“That’s not something you should ask your boyfriend, especially not in this kind of situation,” he growled. 

She plunged her fingers into his hair and tugged sharply.

“Idiot, not for me. Alis!” she clarified, a tipsy giggle escaping her lips. 

Rhys wasn’t mollified and bit her inner thigh in punishment, making her giggle more. 

“Do you think he likes me though?”

Rhys snarled and bit her other thigh, harder this time. Feyre gasped and smacked his head. 

“Stop it you beast!”

“Stop baiting me, you cruel woman,” he retorted with a pout, but kissed the place he just bit to ease the hurt and then rested his head on her stomach, tracing little patterns on her hip bone with his fingers. “You two were thick as thieves, there’s no way he doesn’t like you. Do you think Alis is interested in him?”

Feyre leaned back and closed her eyes, enjoying his gentle touch. “Hmmm. Might be.”

After earning Feyre her pictures, Alis had decided to go home. Cassian had offered to walk her part of the way. Judging from the look on her face, she had been really happy about the offer. Although she had looked also really happy when Rhys had talked to her. Or when Feyre did. Well, basically she had been happy the whole evening. Feyre blamed Rhys’ broad variety of homemade liquor and wine.

“That liquor shure was delishous,” she mumbled, growing sleepy.

“Glad you liked it. Hey, we’re not done yet!” Rhys slowly worked his way up her body, until he was hovering above her. “Don’t you dare fall asleep, tipsy,” he murmured against her lips, before pushing his tongue in. 

Feyre giggled into his mouth, but wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed him back. Rhys broke away and kissed the tip of her nose, before plucking a condom from the nightstand and putting it on.

“Do you think she likes me though?” he asked while he settled between her legs, pausing at her entrance. Feyre hooked her legs around him and tried to push him inside, which proved to be more difficult than she had thought. She really was quite drunk, she realized.

“She loooooves you,” Feyre drawled, grabbing his hips now and pulling at him. 

Alis had given Feyre her final, drunken verdict while they hugged goodbye, leaving Feyre dizzy with relief in addition to her alcohol-infused tipsiness. 

With a chuckle, Rhys followed her demand and entered her in one fluid motion.

“I’m glad she does,” he whispered in her ear, cradling her head tenderly as he started rolling his hips gently against hers.

“And I love you too,” Feyre slurred, fighting to keep her eyes open, but her eyelids just wouldn’t listen to her.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.”

But Feyre had already fallen asleep in his arms.


	18. Chapter 18

Feyre was stressed. It was Wednesday and her week had been busy so far. That she hadn’t seen Rhys since Saturday and wouldn’t until this weekend only added to her stress.

Rhys had kept sulking for most of Saturday, no matter how often she had apologized for falling asleep during sex and ensured him it’d had nothing to do with his performance. Still slightly pouting Saturday afternoon, Feyre finally had enough. With her temper flaring up, she had told him, his behavior wasn't cute anymore and she would be going home, which had resulted in Rhys sitting behind her on the couch and clinging to her back like a koala bear. 

Feyre had resigned herself to reading her textbooks like that. She had known he had still been frowning and jutting out that bottom lip like a petulant child, but at least she hadn’t had to see it. And when he’d started nibbling at her earlobe a good hour later, she knew she had been forgiven. That had been the last time she had seen him.

Their schedules this week didn’t match and for the first time since they met, Feyre was separated from him for more than three days. She was astonished just how much effect it had on her. Sure, their relationship was still new, and they were still in that honeymoon phase, where they just had to enter the same room and their clothes started shedding almost on their own accord, but it wasn’t only that. 

Feyre hadn’t been able to sleep well, waking more than once during the night and reaching out to the side where Rhys usually lay, only to find that she was not sleeping with him in his queen-sized bed, but in her own single in her apartment. The apartment she used to love more than anything, because it was a place just for herself, but that now felt kind of lonely. 

She had known she felt comfortable around Rhys, but she hadn’t realized just how much of her stress and tension he sapped away by just being with her. Left to deal with them on her own again, she grew incredibly irritable in a matter of days. And on top of that, she missed him like crazy. 

All in all, it didn’t make a good combination, especially when she was sitting at her desk in the International Office on a Wednesday afternoon and had to deal with an obnoxious exchange student she was in charge of, that kept writing her silly emails, because he just didn’t get what Feyre wanted to tell him.

Reading the email again, Feyre groaned in frustration, loud enough for her boss, Clotho, to look over to her. 

“Everything alright, Feyre?” she asked.

“Yeah, sorry, this one student drives me crazy. He keeps asking, why he has to take out insurance here instead using the one from home. Are we sure he passed the language requirements?” she seethed.

Feyre and her boss were responsible for incoming exchange students at Velaris U, a job that Feyre usually liked very much, because it catered to her need to take care of people and she got to meet people from all over the world, but sometimes it was just too frustrating. But before Clotho could answer, a knock came from the door. It wasn’t office hours, but most students didn’t stick to those anyways. Feyre ducked behind her screen. The mood she was in, she better let Clotho handle the students.

“Uhm, excuse me, I’m looking for Feyre Archeron?”

_ That voice. It couldn’t be! _

Feyre glanced around the computer screen that was obscuring her view. There, clutching the half-open door, stood Rhys, smiling politely at her boss. 

Feyre blushed deeply and scrambled to her feet so he would notice her. Rhys eyes instantly snapped towards her and his smile turned broader. Feyre rushed towards him immediately, but caught herself before she flung herself at him with full force. She was still at work.

“What are you doing here?” she breathed in amazement.

“Hello there. I had to meet my professor, so I thought I’d stop by and see, if you wanted to have coffee?” Turning to Clotho, he added, “Only if that is okay, of course.”

“Of course,” Clotho said, giving a broad smile in return. “Feyre, you haven’t had your break yet anyways.”

“Thanks, Clotho,” Feyre said and quickly picked up her purse. “I won’t be long.” 

But her boss merely waved her hand at her and gave her a little look. Feyre knew she would have to answer some personal questions later, but seeing Rhys was worth it. She tugged him outside the office, almost impatiently, and threw herself at him the moment she had closed the office door. 

“I missed you,” she murmured against his lips, relishing their soft feel. 

“Me too,” he whispered, cradling her head gently as he pressed another kiss to her lips.

Feyre wanted nothing more than to continue, but they were at her workplace. This wasn’t the time or place. They broke apart and she smiled up to him before tugging him down the hallway towards the exit. 

“Hey, don’t I get a tour?” he protested. 

“Oh.” Feyre stopped, slightly startled. “You want a tour?” 

“Of course,” Rhys said, “After all, this is where you spent a lot of your time.”

Feyre nodded, but was unsure what to show him.

“Well, you have seen Clotho, who is my direct supervisor. I help her out overseeing incoming students from overseas, managing their application and offer support before and during their stay. It’s mostly writing emails, so there is nothing to see, really.” 

Feyre started dragging him down the hall again, only slower this time, pointing at the respective doors and telling him whose office it was and what they were responsible for. She stopped before a door plastered with schedules in different colors. 

“And this is the student assistants’ office. I have my own desk at Clotho’s office, because we need to coordinate and discuss a lot of stuff, but most student assistants share this office,” Feyre explained, opening the door for Rhys to have a look. “It’s empty around this time.”

Only it wasn’t. A guy sat on one of the computers that were crammed into the tiny, messy office. One of Feyre’s colleagues desperately tried to keep some semblance of order, but with almost 12 student assistants coming and going at all times, she was fighting against windmills. 

The guy’s head perked up when he heard the door open and smiled at Feyre in recognition.

“Hello,” he said shyly, looking incredibly relieved. 

Feyre needed a moment to remember who he was. “Ah… Tarquin, right?” 

They had met briefly some weeks ago, when he had planned to apply for his current job, which was organizing the various events the International Office held for foreign students. Feyre, who usually helped out during events, had grilled him about his year in India that he had just returned from. Now that she thought about it, it must be his first day.

“Did you start today?” Feyre asked politely.

Tarquin nodded and walked over to her, giving her a quick hug. 

No wonder he was relieved at seeing her, being left alone in the office, his boss nowhere in sight. Normally, Feyre would have sat down with him, to answer any questions he had, like another student helper did with her when she first started, but a gentle touch at the small of her back and Tarquin’s gaze shifting to something, or rather someone, over her shoulder reminded her of Rhys’ presence.

“Uhm,” she said, unsure what to do. She felt bad for leaving Tarquin alone, but she really wanted to spend time with Rhys. “Rhys, this is Tarquin. He is another student assistant, who will be working for events. Tarquin, this is my boyfriend Rhysand.” 

She blushed a bit introducing him like this, but couldn’t help the happy smile that spread on her face.

Tarquin looked a bit surprised - if not disappointed - at that, but caught himself quickly and turned to Rhys, offering a hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.” 

Rhys shook it and repeated the greeting. If he was bothered by how Tarquin had been hugging Feyre, or how he had obviously looked a bit surprised that Feyre had a boyfriend, he didn’t let it show. Truth be told, Feyre had kind of considered Tarquin as potential date material when they had met for the first time. 

He was an interesting fellow, smart and interested in many things, and incredibly kind. He had spent the last year working and traveling in India, which had left his already dark skin to become even darker, creating a stunning contrast to his almost white hair and striking ice-blue eyes. But then, Feyre had one rule she stuck to at all times - you don’t shit where you eat. No dating colleagues. Which hadn’t meant, she couldn’t flirt with them a bit last time. It had been before she had met Rhys. 

“Tarquin spent the last year in India and just returned,” she told Rhys, trying to spark a conversation to mask the little moment of awkwardness between them.

“Oh really? What did you do?” Rhys turned his attention to Tarquin, eyes suddenly sparkling with interest. 

Feyre knew that look. There was no way, Rhys wouldn’t launch into a lengthy conversation know. Sighing, she set her purse down and shoved Rhys into the office before she closed the door behind them.

☽✴☾

Feyre was equally amused and horrified to find, that she felt slightly jealous of Tarquin. 

He and Rhys hit it off immediately, spending a good hour of talk in the student office. They had opted for the shoddy office coffee, as neither Rhys nor Tarquin could stop going over their common interests and comparing opinions. Really, if she wasn’t already his girlfriend, she would have tried to set the both of them up. Not that they needed her help in that regard. They were two peas in a pod. 

Rhys seemed especially interested in the volunteer work he did in the Indian slums. As geography major with focus on human geography and city development, he had helped with building schools and recreational areas and improve the living situations of the poorest. At some point, Tarquin had pulled out his phone and shown them pictures of some of the projects. One picture had stuck with Feyre in particular: a building facing the sea, that was decorated in a mosaic of seashells and recycled tiles. It was breathtaking.

“I like him,” Rhys said, when Feyre walked him to the tram station. She still needed to get back to work, but she wanted to steal a little bit more time with him.

“I could see that,” she joked. 

Rhys glanced her way and raised an eyebrow. “Jealous, darling?”

Feyre pursed her lips. “Maybe.” 

Rhys barked out a laugh and pulled her into an embrace, giving her a deep kiss. 

“Don’t worry, you are my favourite,” he spoke against her lips.

“Rhys!” Feyre blushed a furious red. “We are in public!”

“I know,” he chuckled and kissed her again. 

Feyre gave up her protest, which had been half-hearted at best anyways. She had missed him too much to reject his kisses. They broke apart, but Rhys didn’t let go, instead he pulled her closer and buried his nose in her hair, breathing in. 

“ _ Cauldron _ , I can’t wait for it to be Friday. I miss having you around,” he murmured, planting another soft kiss on the top of her head. 

Feyre pressed her cheek against his coat and savored the moment.

“Should we invite your other girlfriend, too? Mor will feel cheated when she finally meets me, only to find out, you withheld Tarquin from her,” she teased. 

She would finally meet Mor and the rest of the family for dinner on Friday. Rhys chest rumbled with laughter and he let go of her - much to Feyre’s disappointment.

“So you  _ are _ jealous,” he chuckled. “I’m flattered, Fey.”

Feyre’s toes curled at the use of this nickname that he only used when he was overcome with emotion and she grinned at him. 

“I told you. Maybe!” 

Rhys grabbed her hand and walked them the last meters towards the tram stop.

“You’re right though, I should introduce him to Mor. He’s got some interesting ideas we could use,” he mused. They stopped when they reached the stop and Feyre wrinkled her brow. 

“What do you mean with ‘we could use’?” she asked. 

She didn’t understand what he was getting at. Rhys looked at her, momentarily confused, before understanding lit his eyes.

“Ah, right. I still haven’t told you what Mor does,” he said, more to himself than to her. 

He rubbed his neck, staring into the distance. The last time she asked, he had been evasive, telling her that it was Mor’s story to tell. But right now, he seemed to be staggering with that position. He turned to her and opened his mouth to speak, but right then the tram was approaching. 

“Damn, I have to catch that. Let’s talk on Friday, before we go to dinner, okay?” he said hurriedly and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. 

Feyre wanted to protest, but she had to go back to work and this was probably nothing they should discuss right now. So she smiled waved him goodbye. 

After all, this surely had time until Friday.

☽✴☾

Or that was what she had thought until she went to her last class on Friday. After this, she was free for the whole weekend. She didn’t have to work at the library on Sunday, so she and Rhys had planned for her to stay over the whole weekend to make up for their lonely week.

Before class, she went to have a talk with Professor Whitethorn, the printed out pictures of Rhys’ and Cassian’s tattoos in her bag to show him. She wanted to discuss the end-of-term paper with him, seeing if she could make them her topic. 

The door to his office stood open, so Feyre knocked on the frame. Professor Whitethorn sat at his desk, frowning at a stack of papers, but he looked up when he heard her knock. He didn’t smile, he never smiled, but his brow unwrinkled. Really, it was almost a compliment. 

“Ms. Archeron, please, come in.”

“Hello Professor. I wanted to discuss my paper with you,” she said shyly. 

She held the greatest respect for him, so she always felt incredibly intimidated by his presence. To think Rhys was acquainted with his wife and had casual talks with him was mind-boggling. She dug out her pictures and presented them to him.

“Uhm, so I came across those Illyrian tattoos and I would like to make them my topic for the end-of-term paper.”

Professor Whitethorn took the pictures she held out to him and studied them thoroughly..

“And how exactly did you get Rhysand Nash to strip for you?” he asked suddenly. 

Feyre gaped at him.

“S-Sir?” she stammered, her cheeks burning. Gosh, this was embarrassing. “How did you recognize him?” 

The pictures didn’t show Rhys’ or Cassian’s faces, but were close ups of their tattoos.

Professor Whitethorn gave her a little smile,  _ a smile,  _ and tapped at a particular section of Rhys’ tattoo, covering his left shoulder. 

“Here is where the family name and given name is represented. In Mr. Nash’s case, the symbol for his clan is a bat. And I was lucky enough to have my pesky wife first get him drunk and then annoy him for long enough to finally grant me a look. I understand he doesn’t usually like to show people. That you got pictures is really impressive.”

Feyre wanted to die. Well, Rhys  _ had  _ been wary when she first asked about his tattoos, but he hadn’t hesitated showing her. 

_ Well, that was probably because he wanted to get naked with me in the first place, _ she thought, blushing deeply. 

Also, did Professor Whitethorn just share personal information with her, telling Feyre that his wife got Rhys sloshed for him, so she could make him strip? Where was the earth to swallow her, when she needed it.

“So, tell me, how did you get those pictures?” he asked again, obviously curious. If possible, Feyre blushed deeper.

“Uhm, he is my boyfriend,” she whispered, tucking a strand of hair beneath her ear. 

“Ah, that explains it,” he said with grim satisfaction, eyeing the pictures again, switching to Cassian’s now. “This makes a really good topic, Ms. Archeron. Maybe you should even consider it for your thesis, seeing you have more than one subject.” He eyed her attentively. “You’re a good student, Feyre. It has only been a few weeks, but you stand out in class. I would love to supervise you, if you choose to stay in this direction.”

Feyre didn’t know what to say. She was incredibly happy and embarrassed at the same time.

She was not used to people praising her, she was expected to do good. From herself, she expected to be better. To hear Professor Whitethorn, whom she practically worshipped, say her praise and call her by her first name, she didn’t know how to react. So she went into efficient mode.

“Uhm, thank you sir. I would love to. I might be able to get a third subject.” 

He perked up at that, giving her another smile.

“Feyre, I think we are going to do great things together.”

☽✴☾

Feyre slipped into her seat, just as the lecture began, and gave Suriel a little smile in greeting. 

She and Rowan, how he now allowed her to call him, had poured over the pictures some more, talking about research possibilities and going way beyond the scope of what her paper was supposed to cover. They had been so immersed in their shoptalk, Feyre had almost missed her lecture. 

Thankfully, Suriel always left a seat open for her, if only because nobody dared to sit next to him. He looked a bit creepy, his lanky and bony body and thin lips giving him an almost skeletal look. And Feyre guessed his sense humor was weird, too, but she liked him. She had always been drawn to the misfits and outcasts anyway. And Suriel knew  _ everything _ . Literally everything. He was a wandering encyclopedia, as well as a terribly gossip. 

Which was why Feyre was immediately on her guard when Suriel kept grinning at her, his thin lips drawn back to reveal big, horsey teeth. 

“What?” she hissed low under her breath.

“Someone told me you have been seen making out with a hot guy in the middle of campus on Wednesday,” he whispered back gleefully.

“Uhg!” Feyre buried her head in her arms. If Suriel knew, the rest of the school would know by Monday, if they didn’t already.

“And someone else claimed it was Rhysand Nash,” he continued.

Feyre’s head shot up at that. 

“How do you know?” she asked stupefied.

Suriel’s grin grew even wider. “So it was Rhysand Nash! Wow, Feyre. How did you manage to get your hands on him?”

She groaned, putting her head into her hands. Why did everyone ask her that today? 

“How do you think? We went on a date, we went on another date and so on,” she grumbled. 

“Wait, you mean you’re actually dating him? Like exclusively? You’re dating Rhysand Nash?”

Suriel didn’t bother keeping his voice down and heads turned towards them. Feyre shot him a glare and gestured for him to shut up. When the attention was no longer on them, she leaned closer to him.

“Do you know Rhysand somehow?” she whispered. 

Suriel cackled and this time their professor looked over to their part of the auditorium, brows knitted together.

“If I know him? Feyre, everybody in Velaris knows him. This guy practically owns the city.” 

“What do you mean he owns the city?” she bit back. 

But Suriel merely kept cackling and shook his head.

“Google him, you’ll see,” he said and faced the lecture.

Feyre was confused. Rhys had told her that his father’s side was old money and had a lot of connections, but he had talked about Hewn City, not Velaris. And it didn’t sound like he was directly involved with them, seeing that he didn’t like Mor’s father and didn’t associate much with them after his own father’s death.

Curious about Suriel’s remarks, she dug out her laptop, pulled up Google and typed in her boyfriend’s name.

☽✴☾ 

As always, Rhys stood in his doorway, eager to welcome Feyre, but when he saw the look on her face, his smile faltered. Stepping out of the way, he let her in and closed the door as soon as she had stepped through. Feyre put down her bags and took of her coat, not bothering to look at him.

“Feyre, what -” he started, wary of her obvious bad mood.

“When were you going to tell me you are the head of a multi-billion company and practically own the whole damn state?” she snarled before he got out another word. He blanched, but didn’t back down.

“Today.”

Feyre deflated like a balloon, her anger bleeding away at his easy admission. “What?”

Rhys swallowed. “I told you I would tell you about Mor and her job today. That’s it. She’s running the company.” He stepped a bit closer, but didn’t touch her. “How did you find out?” 

“A friend asked if we were dating, because they saw us together on Wednesday. It seems like they recognized you and my friend kept dropping hints, so I googled,” she explained, anger flaring up again. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Would that have changed anything between us?” he asked, a sad, painful expression on his face. 

“What? No, of course not. I don’t care -”

But that wasn’t true, was it. She cared, that’s why she was so pissed at him. But she wasn’t angry at him, because he owned a company or was filthy rich and she didn’t know, but because he kept it a secret from her. 

She took a deep breath and raked her hands through her hair, collecting herself. 

“I’m pissed, because you didn’t tell me. You tell me over and over to talk to you, be honest with you, and yet you don’t tell me something that monumental.”

Rhys nodded. Daring another step closer, the tentatively put his hands on her shoulder. Feyre flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“I didn’t tell you, because it’s not just I who is involved. This concerns Mor’s family history and it’s not my place to spread her past open to other people. Also,” he glanced at her nervously, swallowing again, “I had very bad experienced in the past, where people reduced me to my physical appearance. Or my family’s wealth.” Feyre wanted to speak up, but he shook his head. “I know you’re not like that, Fey, especially after you gave all that stuff away your ex got you, but experience has made me cautious. I wanted you to get to know me, the real me, before you are exposed to the rumours that float around me and my family name. And there are a lot. Most of the stuff you read online is not true. Can you forgive me for not telling you?”

Feyre searched his face. He was still looking at her with that heartbreakingly agonizing expression. She believed him, but she was still slightly angry at him now telling her, whatever his reasons were.

“So you don’t actually own the state?” she asked flatly. Rhys snorted.

“My ancestors were sneaky bastards, who aggressively bought out land, mostly from indigenous tribes. They got rich by exploiting the natural resources they found, mostly oil, wood and precious metals. Hewn City was their company’s headquarters, it eventually developed into a settlement, then a city, so you could say my family founded it. Velaris used to be a trading outpost - they used the river as port to transport the goods. People started settling and it became a city, too. The Nash family always put special interest in the cities developments and we still hold a vast amount of land in the northern plains, although there is nothing left to exploit there; they sucked everything dry. 

Nowadays, most of it is used as reservation for the tribes the land used to belong to in the first place, and in future we plan to give it back to them, anyways, Mor and I just have to overcome some internal struggles. We do own some properties around Velaris and Hewn City, that’s how we make most of our money, but we don’t own the city or anything like that. My family name is well known, because my family has lived here for so long and moved among the upper tiers of the cities society. There might have been on or two mayors named Nash in the past, maybe even a state governor, but that’s it.”

Feyre considered what he had told against what she had read. It was still overwhelming.

“And the thing about you owning a multi-billion company?” she asked.

Rhys stiffened visibly and let go of her shoulders.

“Ah, well, that is true. I’m no billionaire though, not in the sense that I have unlimited access to funds,” he added quickly seeing her shocked expression. “The whole thing is rather complicated.” Rhys raked a hand through his hair. “Can we maybe go sit down or something?” he asked. “I’d rather not talk about something like that in my hallway. And I need some tea. You want tea?” 

Feyre nodded her consent and took off her shoes, while Rhys went into the kitchen to prepare tea and probably ponder how to best explain the whole situation to her. 

Feyre was still feeling angry and confused, but it helped that he was being honest. She flopped down on the couch and tried to calm herself further. It probably would have been better to have this talk after she had had some days to cool off, her quick temper causing her to be irrational at times, but she needed to know now.

Rhys came back with two mugs of tea, but didn’t join her on the couch like he usually did. Instead he pulled his desk chair over and sat opposite to her with the coffee table separating them. 

She didn’t know whether it was because he knew she couldn’t stand being close to him now, or if it was him that needed the physical distance. Clasping her tea between both hands, she waited for him to speak.

“I still not gonna tell you how exactly Mor is involved in this, because it concerns some deeply personal information nobody but her should share, but I’ll try to explain as best as I can,” he started. 

Feyre nodded again. She didn’t trust her command over her voice.

“So Nash Corp., as I mentioned, was founded by my family several hundred years back. It’s family owned and run and company policy is to keep it within the family. Every member born in the family will receive company stocks, when someone dies, their children inherit their stocks, or whichever member of the family they designated in their will. It’s been done like that since the company was founded, probably to prevent the company being sold out by external investors and guarantee the family’s wealth. 

My father was the main stockholder, and when he died, I inherited all of it, as well as my sisters shares, making me the main stockholder at a very young age. I never wanted that much responsibility, I would have gladly let my sister take over after my father and become a dormant partner, maybe even sell my stocks to her, but life happened the way it did.  But if I were to be left with that position, with the responsibility to lead a huge company like this, I wanted to try and make a difference. 

Like my father before me, I’m not happy with the way the company is run and it’s policies. But I can’t make decisions all of my own, the company does not only belong to me, but to a board of members. And their positions are, to be frank, disgusting. They’re a bunch of supercilious, racist, elitist assholes, who believe themselves to be better than other people. When my father married my mother, they tried to make him give up his shares by force, because they believed he had sullied our ‘pure’ bloodline by marrying an inferior human being. As any of their children would be.” 

Feyre felt her throat constrict and Rhys flashed her a grim smile, before he continued.

“The only other person with a large chunk of stocks is Mor’s father Keir, who is my father’s cousin. And he is everything you imagine, when you think of the standard entrepreneurial asshole. Arrogant, racist, power-hungry, money-loving and misogynistic. Mor is his only child, but instead of grooming her to take over one day, he wanted to use her for breeding. She got her share of company stocks, like we all do, but hers, more than anything, were intended as dowry to lure in a husband. Only Mor is far too capable to be married off and punch out male heirs to take over the company. She’s a natural born leader, smart and cunning, and it became more and more apparent when we grew up. Still, her father wanted her married and stuffed away in some country house by 18 latest.” 

A violent shiver went through Feyre. That came too close to what fate would have awaited her, if she had stayed with Tamlin. Only she was 26. To be forcing a 18 year old into an arranged marriage... She understood why Rhys wanted nothing to do with his family.

“I won’t tell you exactly what happened, because that’s something Mor should do if she cares to share, but what I can say is that she left home before she was married off and started living with me. She was 17 or 18 at that time I think and was 19 or 20. I helped her get around and we supported each other through college. She got a degree in economics and business law. She had just graduated when shit hit the fan with Amarantha and she helped me sue her and the university.”

Rhys raised his head and looked Feyre dead in the eye.

“Fey, I got paid several millions in damages and Mor and I used every last penny to buy the company out from under her father’s ass.” 


	19. Chapter 19

_Fey, I got paid several millions in damages and Mor and I used every last penny to buy the company out from under her father’s ass._

Feyre gasped in shock. To think he used the money he got from his assault case to get back at his cousin’s assailant. Because that’s how he saw her father, Feyre was sure of it.

“Of course, a few million weren’t enough to buy all the shares we needed, and those shovelfaces wouldn’t part with their shares that easily, so it took us 4 years to achieve that. We invested the money into start-ups and increased our money that way. At the same time, we began to secretly buy out the small quantities of shares from minority holders. Some didn’t mind parting with what little shares they had, preferring the cash we offered, but others were a bit harder to convince.  Only last year, we managed to gather enough to wrest power away from Keir and the rest of the board, Mor and me now co-owning the company. Keir still holds a fair amount of shares, but no real power, and his shares will eventually fall to Mor anyways.”

Feyre felt the hysterical laughter that was bubbling in her chest claw its way up her throat. What an elaborate revenge plan to get back at Mor’s father and the family that had treated him and his so unfairly, just because his mother was seen as inferior, being Illyrian. And now a half-breed and a woman had taken over the company they had prided themselves with.

Feyre couldn’t help it: she started laughing. She threw her head back and laughed, until tears stung in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. It was just too good to be true. Rhys smiled faintly.

“So,” she said, brushing away the tears, “you’re telling me you and Mor now own Nash Corp. and she is running it for you, because you are busy with your PhD? And you’re not a billionaire, despite the company being listed a multi-billion company?”

Rhys sighed and rubbed his neck, putting his tea mug down. He had held onto it for dear life until now, probably anchoring himself with the porcelain cup.

“Yes. You see, the problem with not letting foreign investors in is that there’s is no fresh influx of money. All the money has to come from within the company or the stockholders, which at the moment, is me, Mor, her father, and some others. I have some money, but I don’t have enough to invest in such a large-scale cooperation. And Nash Corp. might be listed at several billion, but the company itself hasn’t been profitable for several decades now, not since they stopped exploiting natural resources up north. The list value is merely an estimated number on paper, most capital is bound in immovable property.

Take the land up north for example. The Illyrian Steppes, where my mother comes from, almost completely belong to Nash Copr.. The land is an estimated value of several hundred million, but there is no way we will ever see that money. We cannot, or don’t want to, sell that land. I told you before, Mor and I actually plan to give it back to the people who live there.

The way Keir has led the company after my father died might have been profitable, but ruthless and unethical. He has made some aggressive acquisitions and risky investments that came out profitable, but it’s neither Mor’s nor my policy to do business at the expense of others. We are trying to follow a more sustainable approach, even if it doesn’t generate great amounts of money for ourselves. We are currently in the process of slowly dismantling the corporation and restructuring it. It will take several more years before we are really done with it. It’ll probably take a lifetime. And Keir is still a pain in the ass.”

“Why not cut him loose completely?” Feyre asked. Working with her despicable father must be torture for Mor.

“History has taught me, that it is better to keep your enemies close. Keir is lusting for power, even if it is just the semblance of power he can cloak himself in. If we let him believe, he still got a say in things, he is more likely to be content and keep his feet still. If we throw him out, he will try to get back at us and try to get the company back under his control. Not that he’s not trying to do it right now, but the other stockholders would never sell to him. I made sure of that.” He chuckled to himself.

“Who are they?”

Rhys smirked at her. She was still mad at him, but it still made her heart flutter. She hated to see him distressed as he had been earlier. _Well, it’s your fault_ if he looks like that, a shrill voice in the back of her head said, but Feyre slapped it back into place. She still needed to ask him things, she couldn’t grow soft now.

“My family. You’ll meet them tonight,” he promised and his eyes were sparkling.

“And why didn’t you tell me all of this sooner?”

The spark promptly died. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

“Feyre, we have only known each other for a little over a month. I’m pretty sure you know how I feel about you and if you don’t, I’ll gladly spell it out for you.”

Feyre felt her heartbeat quicken. She knew how she felt about him, and she assumed he felt the same, but he never actually told her. To be fair, she hadn’t either.

Looking up, he went on. “But as much as you needed Alis to clear away your doubts regarding me and our relationship, I need Mor and my family to do the same. And considering the responsibilities I have with Nash Corp, I need to be even more careful about what I disclose and who I date.”

 _Ouch, that hurt._ Feyre flinched, but tried to keep her face neutral. It hurt hearing him say something like this, but at least he was being honest with her. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had the exact same thoughts just last week. Only, she didn’t have to shoulder heavy responsibilities and other people’s lives didn’t depend on her every decision.

When she didn’t answer, Rhys continued, his eyes blazing now with intensity as they bore into hers.

“I trust you more than anyone, which is almost ridiculous, given the short amount of time we’ve known each other. I don’t think you are a gold digger or after my company, or will exploit me for your own personal gain. Not after hearing how you donated all the stuff your ex got you when you could have kept it, or sold it, or thrown it away.”

He took a shake breath and ran a hand through his hair. “But _Cauldron_ , Fey, I’m head over heels for you and I would gladly do anything you ask of me without thinking twice, even if it puts me or the company in a sticky situation. You have me wrapped around your little finger since that very first moment I met you and you don’t even know!” he blurted out.

The way Rhys looked at her made her heart stop, only for it to resume beating even faster. Adoration, pain, fear, pleading and longing twisted his beautiful features in a mask of desperate agony.

_I’m head over heels for you._

She knew how vulnerable this admission must make him feel, how exposed. It was how she felt every time she was close to telling him, which was why she hadn’t dared to yet. And she had far less to lose.

Still keeping her face under control, Feyre placed down her mug and stood up to make her way over to Rhys. She sat down in his lap and reached for his face, cupping it between her hands. Rhys rested his own hands loosely on her waist and looked up to her. Feyre studied his features in silence.

He was so beautiful. Inside and out. He was such a wonderful soul, sacrificing himself and protecting the people he cared about. And dumb bitch that she was, she had snapped at him when he had been doing just that: protecting his family by withholding information from her, who he barely knew. As he had every right to do.

What did it matter whether she found out right now or later this evening? He had planned to tell her eventually. And not telling her had been killing him. She saw it had, when tears started pooling in his eyes.

“You’re in love with me?” she asked softly. Rhys swallowed and blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall.

“Yes,” he answered in a husky voice and swallowed his tears.

Feyre stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. If she demanded honesty from him, she should do the same.

“Thank you for telling me. And I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I was hurt, because you didn’t tell me and we’d promised to always be honest with each other. But I understand that the matter is bigger than just us and you have your family and company to consider. I promise you, I won’t tell anybody what you just told me, and I will do my best not to add to the burden you already carry. If I can help share this burden, please tell me. I want to support you and be there for you. Because, Rhysand Nash, I’m very much in love with you and I plan to stick around for a good, long while.”

Rhys let out a shuddering breath and pressed his lips to hers, desperate like a drowning man coming up for air. His grip on her waist tightened and he pulled her closer towards him. His tongue brushed over her bottom lip, asking for access, which she readily granted. When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily and Rhys immediately buried his face in her neck, breathing her in. Feyre did the same. They sat wrapped like this for a moment, faces pressed against the other's skin, breathing in each other’s scent; it was their favorite way to hug. Feyre placed a soft kiss on junction of his neck and shoulder and felt him tremble slightly, before he too kissed her neck and pulled away. Stroking her face, Rhys looked into her eyes.

“I want nothing more than to stay at home and take my time to make it up to you, but we need to leave for dinner soon,” he said, his voice laced with longing and affection. Feyre caught his hand and kissed his palm, before placing it against her cheek.

“Later,” she promised and Rhys nodded, pulling her in for another short, but sweet kiss before releasing her. Feyre slid off his lap and held out her hands to help him stand, but didn’t immediately let go after he had gotten up.

“Fey, what is it?” Rhys brushed his lips over her temple, but she shook her head and hugged him, pressing her face against his chest.

Just a moment ago, she had stomped into his apartment, hissing like a wildcat, forcing him to disclose sensitive information about his live and work, before they both confessed their feelings for each other. Going to dinner with his family now seemed so mundane. She didn’t know how to face them. Feyre didn’t even know how she was supposed to feel, what she was feeling. The only feeling the was sure of was that she didn’t want to let go of Rhys.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m bit overwhelmed with what just happened. I need… I need to stay like this for a minute,” she said, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“Should we reschedule the dinner, darling?” he asked. Rhys brought his arms around her and started applying soothing strokes up and down her back. “I wouldn’t mind, you know. I kind of don’t want to leave either. I’d rather stay and hear you say those words again.” He let one hand slip under her sweater and stroke the skin at the small of her back. Feyre shivered at his touch. “Preferably while we are both naked and I show my beautiful girlfriend just how much exactly in love with her I am.”

Rhys’ words and his deft fingers weren’t without effect. The confusing swirl of anger, hurt and tenderness she felt quickly gave way to one singular, primal feeling: lust. She wanted him, needed him. Right in this very moment.

“No, we should go. When do we have to leave?” she asked, raising her head from his chest, only to press a lingering kiss to his neck. Rhys gave a little growl and dug his fingers into the skin at the small of her back.

“In another 30 minutes or so,” he answered. Brushing her hair out of the way, he gently dragged his lips along her neck up towards her ear and bit at her earlobe. Feyre shivered again.

Pulling away, she gave him a little shove, so he staggered and fell backwards onto the couch. Before he had even realized, she was straddling him.

“Then we better make them count!”

☽✴☾

A little bell chimed when they opened the door to the cozy, little restaurant tucked into the ground-level floor of a two-story building facing the Sidra and Rhys gently pushed her inside. As neither of their places were big enough to host a family dinner, his family ate out at least once a month, Rhys had explained while they hastily got dressed earlier.

Giving in to the lust and need to feel and claim each other’s bodies as an outlet for their agitated feelings, they had almost savagely ripped the clothes of each other. The act itself had been hard and quick and Feyre hadn’t gotten to finish, but it had been enough to take off the edge and soothe her churning and conflicting emotions.

Since then, an uncharacteristic tenderness had replaced the agitation and it showed in the way the both of them behaved. Not that they hadn’t been sweet with each other before, but their little touches, kisses and gazes had gained another quality of fondness. Rhys would run a knuckle across her cheek almost reverently, Feyre would whisper kisses to his jaw or cheek, entirely without heat, but filled with affection, and Rhys would return them to her brow and hair.

They had walked through the Rainbow, holding hands and gazing at each other softly, sharing looks of adoration whenever possible. They were disgustingly in love.

At the sound of the bell, a dark-skinned woman with lovely brown eyes came scurrying out from behind the bar, her face lighting up when saw who had entered.

“Mr. Nash! So good to see you, sir!”

She gave Rhys a little peck on the cheek in greeting and firmly clasped his hand between hers. Rhys sighed in exasperation.

“Sevenda, please, I told you to call me Rhysand. You _used_ to call me Rhysand,” he complained.

“No can do, sir,” she winked and eyed Feyre with thinly veiled curiosity.

Feyre smiled politely and wondered, whether Rhys owned the business or the house. After what she’d heard today, it might be possible.

“My girlfriend, Feyre,” Rhys introduced her and she blushed a little. He hadn’t had many opportunities to introduce her like that yet, so she wasn’t entirely accustomed to it.

The woman, Sevenda, smiled fondly and gave Feyre a peck on the cheek as well. “Welcome Feyre. I hope, I will see you around more often from now on.”

Rhys inclined his head in thanks for the warm welcome and placed a hand on Feyre’s shoulder, squeezing softly. “You will, Sevenda,” he said, while Feyre murmured a quiet thank you.

“The others are already here. I put you in the back room as usual,” she said, pointing down a hallway, before hurrying back into the kitchen.

Feyre looked up to Rhys in an unspoken question. He held out his hands to help her out of her coat and she turned around, unbuttoning the front as he explained.

“My family has been coming here since before I have been born. When Sevenda took over from the previous owner, my father was already established as a regular. We have kept this tradition and come here at least every two months. The back room makes a convenient place for secret board meetings. And the food is incredible. You’ll see.” He pulled the coat from her shoulders and draped it over his arm. “Are you ready to meet my family?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. “But if you wait until I’m ready, we probably never will.”

Rhys chuckled and whispered a kiss to her lips. Hanging their coats on some pegs in the hallway, he led her towards a cozy room in the back: the walls were lined with dark wood paneling and a matching coffered ceiling. In the middle stood one large table, covered in white linen and tastefully arranged with wine glasses and silverware. Simple, yet elegant. It was cozy and Feyre was surprised by the homely feeling she got. It really felt like she had been invited over for a family dinner and just entered someone’s dining room.

“Feyre!”

Cassian strolled over to her from the corner he had been standing in with another dark-haired man. He immediately engulfed her in one of his Cassian bear-hugs. Feyre laughed a bit breathlessly and returned the hug.

“Hello Cassian, nice to hug you again, too.”

Cassina barked a laugh and released her, putting his fist against her chin in a playful punch. Feyre pushed his hand away and laughed again. His rough welcome had taken away most of her nervousness, she realized. She shot him a grateful smile, before turning her attention to the other man.

He had the same dark hair and tan skin as Rhys and Cassian. A ghost of a smile grazed his lips when he held out his hands for a handshake. They were horribly scarred. _Burn marks_ , she realized. But Feyre shook them without hesitation.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Feyre Archeron,” she introduced herself. Somehow, she felt the need to be formal with this one.

“Azriel Keme.”

The other foster-brother then. His voice was deep and smooth like velvet. He was handsome, with almond-shaped hazel eyes that were more green than brown and a face that was all elegant lines. A classic beauty. If only it weren’t for the horrible scars on his hands, he could have been a model, especially with that brooding look he got.

But more than his face, Feyre was interested in what he got under his shirt. Last week, Rhys had confirmed that all of them wore Illyrian tattoos. She was eyeing his burgundy dress shirt hungrily, wishing she could see through it. _How to approach him best about it?_

But either Rhys or Cassian had briefed Azriel about Feyre’s particular research interest, or her eyes were too obviously trained on his chest, or maybe both, because a little smile tugged at the corner of his lips and Azriel wordlessly started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Hey, do you think Feyre likes... WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

A woman stood in the doorway, a bottle of wine in each hand. Clad in a stylish, expensive looking red wrap dress that accentuated her generous curves, heavy cold accessory and a mane of luscious, blond curls, she was breathtaking. And looked utterly shell-shocked, probably due to finding Azriel standing in front of an unknown woman, his shirt half unbuttoned and his chest exposed.

Instead of answering, Rhys raised an eyebrow at her attire. “Overdress much?”

The woman pouted at him. “I wanted to impress Feyre.”

Cassian grinned his shit-eating grin at her. “I told you Mor, if you want to impress Feyre, you only need some ink. Especially, if it’s in Illyrian design.”

Mor, he had called her. Feyre gasped. This was Mor, Rhys’ cousin slash sister, who kept sanitary napkins at Rhys’ place, who single handedly sued a whole university for her cousin, who bought out her father’s company to get back at him for treating her like a prize cow for breeding and ran said company, all the while probably being the same age as Feyre. And _she_ wanted to impress _Feyre_?

Not to mention, that she was devastatingly beautiful, with her heart shaped face and impossible chocolate brown eyes.

_Why were they all so ridiculously beautiful?_

Feyre would have blamed genetics, if she hadn’t known they all weren’t blood relation, except for Rhys and Mor. And their relation was distant enough, for family traits not to show.

“What, is this one also obsessed?” croaked another voice, coming from a tiny black-haired women behind Mor, who rudely shoved her out of the way.

Feyre saw Rhys flinch in her periphery. It must have been a jab at his past with Amarantha. Rhys had mentioned she had been obsessed with research. As was Feyre, when it concerned Illyrian tattoos.

Feyre’s cheeks burned with shame, but at the same time, she felt her anger rise. Feyre didn’t care if that woman was family, nobody insulted her boyfriend. But Rhys merely sauntered over to Feyre and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in and brushing a kiss onto her temple.

“Only where it matters,” he declared and gave her a little apologetic smile. Feyre swallowed the anger she felt on his behalf and restrained herself from snarling at the tiny woman.

“Ok, gross,” said Mor and pushed the wine bottles she had been holding into Cassian’s arm, then hurried over to Feyre and Rhys. She pulled Feyre out of Rhys arms and engulfed her in a sweet-smelling hug.

“So nice to finally meet you. I’m Morrigan, but please call me Mor. Don’t mind Amren, she’s cranky even on a good day.” Mor ignored the other woman’s protest in the background and pulled back to take in Feyre’s features, letting out an enraptured sigh. “Gosh, you’re so pretty!”

Feyre blinked startled and Rhys let out an audible groan that sounded suspiciously like Mor’s name, but Mor was already dragging her towards the table and pushed her onto the middle seat, sitting down beside her.

“Come sit with me, Feyre. I’ve been _dying_ to meet you. Rhys hasn’t stopped talking about you since he finally ‘fessed up about the two of you dating, telling me how smart and funny you are. You are way prettier that he told me though. No wonder he is so in love with you.”

“Mor,” Rhys groaned, clearly embarrassed.

Feyre was glad Rhys had told her that to her face earlier, else she probably would have hyperventilated by now. Not that she wasn’t close.

Rhys, sensing her discomfort, tried to reign Mor in. “Mor, please, stop. You’re making Feyre uncomfortable!”

“What!” She gave another pout and frowned at him. “How else am I supposed to get to know my future sister-in-law.”

“MOR!”

“ _Oh Mother above_ ,” Feyre mumbled and blushed furiously, hiding her face in her hands with a hysteric giggle.

“What?” Mor blinked innocently into the round.

Cassian roared with laughter and put down one of the wine bottles on the table, so he had his hands free to open the other. Azriel pulled out a chair for the other women, Amren, who nodded regally and sat down opposite to Feyre and Mor, observing Feyre with startling silver eyes. Her hair was cut in a blunt bob at her chin. Feyre couldn't guess her age for the life of it. She looked like anything between 25 and 50.

Rhys muttered something under his breath and then went to the corner Cassian and Azriel had stood earlier and where Feyre now spotted a shelf filled with bottles and tumblers. On a little table next to it stood a bottle with a little name tag around the neck, filled with an amber liquid and two glasses.

Plucking a tumbler from the shelf, he served himself a generous amount. He held his glass up to her. _Want one too?_ Feyre shook her hand. She would need a clear head for this.

Just then, Cassian filled her glass generously with wine, giving her a little wink.

☽✴☾

Dinner had been superb. Sevenda had served them family style, placing various dishes in the middle of the table for them to help themselves to the food as they pleased. Feyre had stuffed herself on pork fillet in plum sauce and creamy mashed potatoes and sneaked bites of Rhys’ herb-encrusted lamb, before he could demolish his plate.

He and his brothers ate like there was no tomorrow, devouring everything Sevenda had put out. Comfortably tired from food and the good company, Feyre leaned back in her chair and took a swig of her wine glass that Mor kept filled at all times.

When they had finished the first two bottles, Mor had gotten up, apparently to raid Sevenda’s wine cellar as she saw fit. They really were behaving like they were at home.

Cassian and Mor were bickering across the table over something irrelevant, like they had for most of the evening, except for the time they had needled Feyre for information about herself. Mor was deeply insulted that Cassian had met Feyre before she did, constantly throwing Rhys nasty looks, until Feyre told her how Alis had cheated Feyre’s pictures out of Cassian last week. Mor had laughed so hard, wine had come out of her nose and she demanded another game night, adamant in needing to meet Cassian’s conqueror. Feyre promised they would repeat the board game night soon.

Azriel and Amren, who was an old friend of Rhys’ father and something like the groups cranky aunt, were engaged in a hushed conversation that seemed serious, and Rhys was chatting with Sevenda, who had come to collect the dishes, one hand resting on Feyre’s knee under the table and applying gentle strokes with his thumb.

“Say Feyre, do you draw or paint? I somehow imagine all arts students to be painters”

Feyre turned to Mor, who had stopped her bickering for another round of needling and gave her a genuine smile. Feyre liked Mor; her bubbly, cheerful character was endearing, even if Feyre felt steamrolled at times by the other woman’s quick pace.

“I’m doing Arts History, not Fine Arts. But used to paint as a hobby. I actually considered studying Fine Arts for a while, but the job prospects in that field are meager. It’s hard to make it as an artist and earn enough money to stay afloat, so I chose something more tangible as major. And I could always paint in my free time.”

“Used to. Don’t you anymore?” Mor asked. Damn, she was perceptive. Feyre flinched and averted her eyes.

“Ah, yes. I haven’t painted for a while now.” Feyre took a hasty sip of her wine and hoped Mor would let it go at that. She had no such luck.

“Why?”

Feyre fell silent. Sensing the shift in her mood, Amren and Azriel interrupted their hushed conversation and gazed over to them. Cassian was frowning at Mor and kept glancing between her and Feyre. Behind her, Rhys and Sevenda had fallen silent, too.

Being suddenly the center of attention, she felt exposed, vulnerable. But then Rhys gave her knee a gentle squeeze. He was here, her rock. She could do this.

“I wasn’t in a good place the last couple of years, and it staunched my creativity,” she hedged, looking Mor dead in the eye.

Whatever Mor saw on her face, it convinced her not to pry further. “Well, now you’re with us,” she merely said and refilled Feyre’s glass.

Rhys gave her another squeeze and Feyre turned to him. He searched her face, checking for obvious signs of distress. When he found nothing wrong, he gave her a little smile that seemed to say _sorry_ and whispered the ghost of a kiss on her cheek.

“Aw, come on. Do that at home!” Cassian complained, flicking some leftover peas at Rhys.

“Mr. Hok’ee, would you stop that!” Sevenda scolded and Feyre and Mor giggled like teenagers, who witnessed mom reprimanding their big brother. Just to mess with Cassian, Rhys pressed another kiss to Feyre’s lips, leaving her to giggle even more and Cassian to groan louder.

“Stop! I don’t care if you are my friend, my brother or my boss. No smooching in front of me!” he barked out in command.

“Cass, if you want a kiss from me, you just have to ask,” Feyre offered with a little wink. This time, the whole table erupted in laughter.

They soon wrapped up the evening and said their goodbyes in front of the restaurant, Mor and Cassian hugging Feyre into oblivion. Amren settled for a nod, but Azriel surprised her with a small hug and a business card, his cellphone number written on the back, telling her she could call whenever, if she wanted to take pictures of his tattoos. Feyre thanked him with a big smile and he blushed a bit, before he was tackled out of the way by Mor and Cassian, who demanded Feyre took their numbers as well.

“I’ve got all of your damn numbers, if Feyre wanted them, she just has to ask,” Rhys growled and pulled Feyre into his arms to shield her from Mor and Cassian. “Stop being so damn pushy!”

“Says the guy who pushed for a second date on the same day while still being on the first,” Feyre deadpanned.

“Oooooooooooh!” Cassian and Mor were gloating, while Azriel scratched his nose, trying to mask his smile behind the gesture.

“Why, darling? Why must you do that to me,” groaned Rhys, not letting go of her.

Feyre twisted in his arms and tenderly brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Gotta prune that ego, else it’s growing too big,” she cooed, eliciting another round of Oh’s and laughter from everyone. Surprisingly, Amren laughed the hardest.

“Keep that one, Rhysand,” she said, still cackling, and then turned on her heel, leaving without another word.

Feyre’s chest grew warm. Somehow, it seemed, she had gained the scary woman’s approval, although they had barely talked today. And earlier, she had seen Mor and Rhys sharing some meaningful looks and Mor hugging her cousin and whisper something into his ear while smiling broadly. Whatever she’d said, it had the tension seep out of his shoulders and relief washing over his features, only to be replaced with a beatific smile. Feyre got the feeling that Mor had approved of her, too.

“Well, we’re off too,” declared Mor, giving Feyre another hug and hugging Rhys too, because he was still holding onto Feyre. “See you next week for coffee, Feyre!”

Linking arms both with Cassian and Azriel, Mor dragged them away with the determination of a woman with a destination in mind.

“Where are they going?” Feyre mused, looking after them. Rhys hugged her a bit closer, now that they were finally alone, and kissed her cheek.

“Probably to a club. Mor is a notorious party girl. She drags Cass and Az out with her almost every weekend.”

“What Cassian mentioned about you being his boss…”

“All of them are silent partners to Nash Corp. and members of the board, but they have a day job as well. Cassian has his own security company.”

“I know, he told me last week.”

“Well, the company is under his name, but it’s part of Nash Corp. So technically, I’m his boss. Same with Arziel. He’s head of the IT-department.”

“And Amren and Mor?” asked Feyre, still looking after the trio.

“Amren is my second in command. She runs Nash Corp. for me and scares the living hell of everyone, so they keep in line while Mor and I are busy with other projects. I'll show you one of them these days if you want. But for now, shall we go home, darling?”

Feyre turned her gaze back to Rhys and raised herself on her tiptoes for a quick kiss. “Absolutely.”

They walked home like they had come, leisurely walking through the streets of the Rainbow, holding hands. Feyre threw her head back and gazed up through the narrow streets towards the winter sky, enjoying the biting cold on her cheeks and Rhys walking beside her in the soft night illumination of the city.

“Do they have mulled wine here?” she asked suddenly, remembering the little fantasy she had indulged in back at her sisters’ place. Walking the Rainbow by night, gazing at the stars, gazing into each other’s eyes. Warming themselves with mulled wine and something else later.

“I don’t know. Why?” he asked.

“Just asking. It’s the perfect weather for it,” she said with a silly little laugh. She was drunk on the food, the wine, the laughter, happiness - and love.

“Feyre?” Rhys asked, voice suddenly solemn. Feyre turned to look at him. “You mentioned earlier that you used to paint. Why don’t anymore?”

Feyre let out a deep sigh and looked back up, trying to make out stars in the night sky between the roofs.

“For the longest time, painting was all I wanted to do. It was my only joy, the only way I could express myself and my emotions. What I said earlier - I really wanted to go to an arts college and study Fine Arts. But when I finally was able to go to college, seeing the financial situation my family was in, I wanted to get a degree that would help me find a job that actually paid. Painting wouldn’t grant me financial stability. Not that Arts History is really any better, but well, at least there are some options.

When I first got together with Tamlin and hadn’t had to worry about money for the first time in a long while, I did nothing put paint. He even got me a lot of supplies. But somehow… Being in that relationship wrecked me on so many levels. I don’t know when exactly, but at some point, the joy I felt when painting, I couldn’t feel it anymore, it was like it had been sucked out of me. I couldn’t see the world around me like I used to, picture its colors and feelings… I was numb inside, so I couldn’t paint anymore.”

The alley they walked down opened towards a bridge, which would lead them to the other bank of the Sidra, and Feyre let go of Rhys’ hand and ran towards it.

“But you know what?” She stopped in the middle of the bridge and turned back to take in the Rainbow and Rhys, who was slowly approaching her, drinking in the sight. “That day you showed me the Rainbow, I thought ‘I want to paint that’. That was the first time in a year or so that I really felt the need to paint something.”

Rhys caught up with her and pulled her into an embrace, gazing at her fondly. “You did?”

Feyre wrapped her arms around his neck. “I did. I do. And I think I want to paint you. I told you Rhys, I’m broken and healing. But now I have you, who is piecing together the broken shards quicker and better than I could’ve myself. So I give them to you. It’s all yours, every broken bit and piece of my heart is yours. I lo - “

Rhys’ lips swallowed her words before they were out. Cradling her head, he kissed her tenderly, as if he was afraid he would break her.

“I’ll cherish it, your heart,” he whispered against her lips. “I wish I could give you mine in return, but a feisty little fairy stole it on a certain Wednesday afternoon.”

Feyre threw back her head and let out a delighted laugh and Rhys joined her, picking her up and spinning her around. When he sat her down, she pulled him in for another kiss, drowning in the feeling of this moment of pure happiness.

“Let’s go home, Feyre darling,” he purred, brushing his nose against hers.

“Lead the way, bat,” she purred in return.

Rhys gave a little start and blinked in surprise. “What did you call me?”

Feyre smiled smugly and tapped at his left shoulder, where she now knew the markings of his family’s clan were inked. “You are not the only one that can come up with nicknames,” she declared.

Rhys chuckled and pulled her down the bridge, towards home.

And when they sunk into the pillows a short time later, he made sweet, gentle love to the woman who had stolen his heart at first sight and finally offered hers in return.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’m probably super duper late at this point, but just in case I haven’t mentioned it already, I imagine the Illyrians as an indigenous people (the Fae as well, btw!). For some reasons, I picture the bat brothers as people of Native American descent, therefore I went looking for Native American names when trying to come up with Cassian’s and Azriel’s last names. Keme, which I used for Azriel, is Algonquin and means “secret”, Hok’ee (Cassian) is Navajo and means “abandoned” (or so the internet told me). 
> 
> This chapter was the longest so far and has over 6k words. See it as a bonus, because we have now reached the end of the first story arc. Before you start yelling at me: End of the arc, not of the story!
> 
> And related to this, I am very sorry, but I have to announce that there’ll be an indefinite hiatus on TBLT starting today. 
> 
> I will keep posting shorts, maybe some other works and Rhys POV, but there won’t be another chapter next Saturday. As you know, this fic is incredibly important to me and I’m pouring a lot of energy and devotion into it, so I don’t want to half-ass it. 
> 
> The next arc will follow Feysand on their journey as a couple, how they grow and operate together, but also about the people around them. It’ll be intricate and complex, there are many other characters and their relationships/involvement to consider, and I simply cannot find the time to punch out another chapter every week. I want to show the story the same dedication I have so far, so I can gift it to you when it is ready to be read. 
> 
> I’m sorry and thank you for understanding and the support so far! I love you!
> 
> If you want to come join me on tumblr, it's @howtotameyourillyrian
> 
> *** update notice: I just reread ACoWaR and noticed, that the name of the restaurant owner was actually delivered by Rhys, so I changed it from Antonia (which I came up with on a whim) to Sevenda ***


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear gremlins,
> 
> I am very sorry for not uploading this long. I am also very sorry to say, that uploading today doesn't mean I'll go back to uploading regularly.  
> Since March this year, I've dealt with a massive depressive episode, which, unfortunately, has severely incapacitated me in various ways, writing included. I'm slowly getting back on track, but as of now, I'm still struggling with writing. Additionally, I've kinda fallen out of love with Feysand since Acofas, so I was not eager to return to this story.  
> But I'm trying!  
> This chapter has been sitting in my WIP folder since before I went on hiatus, so this is not something I've written in the meantime. I was holding this back for the second arc, but as of now, I don't know when or if I will return to this story and finish said second arc. And since the timeline of the story overlaps with our rl timeline, I thought it would be nice to share, so all of you who are waiting for me to write again get at least a little something.  
> Thank you, little gremlins, for all your support so far! You have helped me through a difficult time and your comments and likes meant a lot to me and kept me going a little longer during a time, when I didn't feel all that good about things in general.  
> I cannot promise, I'll finish this story. I cannot promise I'll be back anytime soon. But I can promise to try. For myself and for you.  
> Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays.  
> I love you  
> Linda

“Mor, over here!”

Alis waved her outstretched arms wildly over her head to get Mor’s attention in the bustling café. Feyre turned in her seat to see Rhys’ cousin approach with a big smile on her sweet face, navigating around the tables that were crammed into every corner the little café had to offer. Feyre shook her head. Not even snow and ice on the Rainbow's cobbled streets could deter Mor from looking immaculate in her 14cm stiletto boots, leather leggings and soft cream-colored cashmere sweater. Feyre would have instantly gotten her heel stuck between the cobbles or slipped and broken an ankle, but Mor looked like she just jumped out of a fashion ad. As she usually did. Really, it was frustrating.

The first time they had met for coffee, Mor had turned up in full battle gear, wearing a smart charcoal pant suit and button-down shirt, killer heels on her feet and her long blond hair tucked away in a sleek French twist. Seeing her like that, Feyre had had no doubt that Morrigan Nash could enter a conference room full of sneering, looming men and slaughter every single one of them within a matter of seconds, looking fantastic while doing it.

As she had predicted, her and Mor had become fast friends and when Feyre had introduced Mor to Alis, they took one look at each other and, instantly, it was like Mor had been friends with them for years.

Alis stoicism balanced Mors bubbly excitement unnervingly well and the both of them had made it their personal quest to drag Feyre out of Rhys’ arms and into a different club every weekend. Feyre cursed the day she had introduced them whenever they managed. But really, she loved the both of them. Until now, she never had a circle of girlfriends she could meet with for a casual Sunday morning brunch, as they did today.

“Hey there,” Mor beamed and kissed them on the cheek in greeting, before hugging Alis’ youngest nephew to her chest.

“Hello sweetling. I've missed you!” she cooed. Bran giggled and used the opportunity to bury his face in her ample chest.

“Hello auntie,” he sang in his bright clear children’s voice. “Can I sit on your lap?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Mor!” Alis scolded. “The only reason he wants to sit on your lap is so he can grope at you!” She gave Bran a stern glare. “You, sir, are 6 years old! What would your classmates think when they heard you sit on auntie Mor’s lap like a baby?”

But Mor merely hugged the pouting child closer to her chest and ran a hand over his head.

“Hush! He can grope me all he wants as long as I get to cuddle,” Mor declared and exchanged a conspiratory grin with Bran.

“Careful Mor, he’ll take your word for it, Feyre giggled. She spoke from experience. Being the only ‘auntie’ besides Alis until now, she had had her fair share of groping from both Bran and Ron.

Bran adjusted on Mor’s lap and trustfully rested his little head against her shoulder. Mor wrapped her hands around the boy in return and propped her chin up his head, smiling happily. They were crazy about each other, Bran’s earlier infatuation with his babysitter forgotten the moment he had laid eyes on the blonde. And he shamelessly used Mor's soft spot for children to feel her up whenever possible. Feyre feared for the time the little rascal hit puberty.

Alis sighed in defeat and handed Mor the drink menu. “You guard that little one, I'll get food for us. Any preference?”

“Pancakes,” both Mor and Bran blurted out in unison and then shared another cheeky grin.

Feyre laughed at Alis exasperation and ruffled Bran’s hair as she stood. “I’ll help you,” she said to Alis and together they went to fetch food from the buffet tables that were set out at the bar counter.

☽✴☾

They spent a good few hours munching their way through the buffet and talking away, before doing an early present exchange. It was December 22nd and since Feyre would fly back to Springfield tomorrow to spend the holidays with her sisters and Alis would be occupied with the little ones, this brunch was their last meeting before Christmas and New Years.

“Merry Christmas,” Mor chirped, pushing two identical, nondescript gift bags to Feyre and Alis.

Feyre curiously pulled the bag towards to her and slid Mor’ present over the table in exchange. But instead of opening hers, Mor watched the two of them with eager eyes, looking unholy excited. Feyre was instantly alarmed.

Carefully peering into her bag, she reached inside and pushed some silk paper out of the way, pulling out an envelope. Casting Mor a questioning look, she opened the envelope to find a gift card for a very well-known lingerie store, a note stuck to the back. _Take Rhys with you when you go <3_

Feyre giggled and wanted to thank Mor for the thoughtful gift, when Alis next to her gave a loud gasp.

She had pulled something long, black and thin from the bag--glossy, sheer thigh-highs with a delicate lace rim.

“Mor!” Alis hissed embarrassed, quickly shoving the fine fabric back into the gift bag and covering it with the wrapping paper so no one could see the content. “I can't wear something like this!”

“Why?” Mor asked, propping her chin on her fist and sucking her Latte through a straw.

“Well… because… because…,” Alis stammered. Feyre raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. Alis did not stammer.

“Because… I’m too big!” she finally blurted out.

“You're not big! You're cuddly! Nice and soft!” Bran piped up from beside them. He was looking up from the book Feyre had just gifted him, a big smile on his face. “I like that you're soft.” Looking to Mor and Feyre, he added. “You're all soft. And you smell nice.”

Feyre and Mor burst into laughter.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, bud,” Feyre wheezed. “I think I'll have another chocolate croissant then. Care to fetch me one?”

Bran nodded and slid from his stool but stopped next to Feyre’s stool and offered his cheek for her to kiss, collecting his toll. With a little giggle, she pecked it and he dashed off.

Turning to a still mortified Alis, she reached for the bag and pulled the contents free, eyeing the lace rim and feeling she cool, silky material between her fingers. “Those are really nice. I should get some, too.”

Alis snatched them back with a groan and hid them in the bag again. “I can't wear those. My thighs are too fat. It won't look good.”

Her chin still resting on her fist, Mor gave Alis a dangerous little smile that bore uncanny resemblance to Rhys’ usual smirk. “Oh, I imagine those thighs looking mighty fine wearing those.”

And to Feyre’s complete and utter surprise, Alis blushed--massively.

☽✴☾

Sometimes Feyre wondered if by meeting Rhys she had somehow used up her whole life’s worth of luck.

First, she had gotten her period the first time they became intimate, then she had ran into Lucien at her sisters’. And just two weeks ago, their condom had ripped during sex and they had realized it too late. Of course, Feyre had gone to the doctor immediately to get a prescription for plan B, Rhys accompanying her and looking for all the world as if he had just committed a grievous crime and couldn’t live with the guilt. If Feyre hadn’t been so annoyed at their little accident, she might have laughed at him, sitting there in the waiting room between soon-to-be and freshly-baked mothers, the perfect picture of utmost remorse.

But they had been waiting eagerly for her next period, because Feyre had an appointment for an IUD and the ripped condom incident meant they had to wait for at least another month before she could get it implanted. In the light of having had one accident already, it seemed more pressing than ever they started with a method of birth control that was safer than condoms.

But that was nothing compared to the bladder infection that was determined to ruin her Christmas. Seriously, some higher power must be out to get her.

After their brunch, Alis had given Feyre a lift to Rhys place, because dragging her massive suitcase through the snow was no fun. The plan had been to stay over at his place and have him drive her to the airport, “celebrating” Christmas just with the two of them before Feyre left on the 23rd.

Consequently, Feyre had launched herself at her boyfriend the moment she set a foot inside the door, dragging him to the bedroom for a quick pre-evening celebration. Only she had felt this itching and burning in the middle of it and for a moment had thought, that they had hurried too much and she hadn't been wet enough when they started. So, for the first time since they’d been together, Feyre had asked Rhys to stop in the middle of sex.

Now, coming back from yet another bathroom visit about an hour later, Feyre wanted to rip her hair out in frustration.

At least, she had caught it early and was now applying countermeasures in the hopes to contain the relatively mild infection, but it still toppled her plans for today. As Feyre was about to depart to her sister’s place for some time, she had wanted to give Rhys an early Christmas present, which consisted almost entirely of red lace and some cleverly placed ribbons. Although, to be completely honest, the present hadn’t been only for Rhys. Since the condom-incident, Rhys had been almost reluctant to sleep with her and when he did, he was more cautious than ever, being all nervous and hyper-vigilant. And Feyre couldn’t have that. So she had hoped to spur him into some wild action tonight.

But with a bladder infection, sex was definitely off the table.

Rhys came back to the living room carrying a certain hot-water bottle she knew far too well by now and a huge bottle of water. He handed her both and sat down on the couch, fussing a bit with the blanket covering her lap. “You sure you are alright, darling? Do you need anything else?”

“Yeah. I’ll just have to keep warm and drink a lot, then it should go away. I had a bladder infection once before a few years back, it went away after I stayed in bed. And it is not bad yet, just stings a bit. Probably sitting on the cold bench at the tram stop this morning was not such a good idea. And I have been so busy lately, I haven’t had enough water. Only coffee.”  

Really, Feyre was annoyed at herself. She should have known better.

Rhys stroked her face, concern dimming the light in his eyes. “Okay. What do you want me to do then?”

Feyre wasn’t used to people taking care of her, especially not when she was sick. For her, being sick meant you stayed alone at home and in bed, while everyone else was going on with their schedules. To have someone fetch things for her and ask what she needed was almost overbearing.

“Nothing. I’m okay. I’ll just sit here and drink and probably pee a lot.” She cringed at that a little.

Yep, there was definitely no way they would be having sex. Not now and probably not for a while after. Feyre had just killed whatever sexiness she had grown to believe she possessed.

Rhys, however, seemed to be at a loss with Feyre not needing him. “Well then I guess I’ll just sit here, and…”

“No, by all means, no! Just go about your day, play some computer games, read a book, work or whatever. I’ll just be sitting here, chugging water. You don’t need to keep me company. I’m fine. This will take a while until I’m better,” she assured him.

Rhys rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of himself, but clearly not wanting to leave her alone in her suffering. In the end, he settled for watching TV, staying with her on the couch. They eventually started watching a movie together after a while, but Feyre soon had to excuse herself when all the water she had chugged down was asking for release. The first time she went, Rhys had paused the movie until she returned, but after a while she told him not to bother, as the intervals of her bathroom visits got shorter and shorter.

Strangely, drinking all that water seemed to make her infection worse, not better. The stinging grew more painful, too. In the beginning, it was just a mild burning sensation, but with every release the burn seemed to travel up further and further up her urethra, turning into a biting sting that had her groan in pain. Soon, the pain was accompanied by some slight nausea and cold shivers. When Feyre refused lunch and dinner, Rhys started looking mildly panicked, but she dismissed his concerns, claiming she probably wasn't hungry due to all the water she had drank.  

At some point, though, she started getting worried herself. It hadn't been like this the first time she had a bladder infection. She had to pee a lot then, too, but now she ran to the toilet almost every five minutes. In the end, she didn't even bother getting up anymore, but remained on the toilet.

“Fey? Are you alright?” Rhys knocked on the bathroom door when she hadn't emerged for the last 20 minutes.

“Yeah, it's just, I think I'll stay here for a bit.” Just then, she had to pee again and a whimper escaped her, the pain shooting up her urinal track like a hot needle piercing her.

“Okay, that's it, I'm coming in!” Rhys exclaimed and opened the door she hadn't bothered locking.

Feyre waved her sexlife goodbye as it walked away from her right this very moment. She knew it wouldn't return now that Rhys had seen her perched on the toilet, peeing.

“You’re clearly not okay. And don't try telling me otherwise! What do you need darling?” He dropped to his knees in front of her and gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. Feyre sighed in defeat.

“Could you bring me my hot water bottle? And something to drink? I think I'll sit it out here. It's no use getting up only to return a minute later.”

Rhys nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You're hot,” he stated, brows furrowed.

“Why thank you, darling,” she said in her best imitation of him. Rhys didn't think it funny.

“You're running a fever, Fey.”

“I know, bat. It'll go away once I flush out those little beasts.”

Rhys opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. Shaking his head, he left the bathroom, mumbling something that sounded very much like _stubborn idiot_ under his breath.

Elbows propped on her knees, Feyre supported her head with her hands. I was feeling heavy and light all the same. She had suspected she had a fever when the shivers started, but she had refused to believe it. She couldn't be sick right now. She had a flight to catch tomorrow. And now Rhys had seen her on the toilet, the one thing she really wanted to avoid since the very first day.

“Goodbye sexlife. You were such a wonderful friend. I'll miss you.”

“Who?”

Rhys had returned with another liter bottle of water, her hot water bottle and a blanket, which he carefully draped around her shoulders to keep her warm.

“Nothing, I was just mourning the loss of our sexlife now that you have seen me like this.” Feyre waved her hand at Rhys to shoo him away. She was sure, this close, he could smell things she didn't want him to smell, because she didn’t bother flushing every time a few droplets escaped.

But Rhys only snorted and sat down on the edge of the bathtub opposite to her, eyeing her with bright yet concerned eyes.

“Darling, do you really think that? Once your healthy again, there's no way I won't want to sleep with you. But if it makes you feel better, I'll use the toilet in front of you and then were even.”

Feyre wanted to retort, but another wave of pain hit her, as her body released the fluids on its own accord, making her gasp and writhe in pain. She couldn't even hold it anymore.

“Fey, you sure we shouldn't go see a doctor?”

Feyre dismissed his concern with another wave of her hand. “It's okay. Really. I just need to endure this and then I'll be fine. Thanks for the blanket and everything, but really, there's nothing else to do. Go on, do something. I'll be right here.”

“But--”

“Rhys, please.” The constant pain made Feyre incredibly irritable and she couldn't keep it out of her voice. “Please go. This is embarrassing enough as it is.”

Rhys looked hurt but nodded and pressed a kiss to her hair before he left the bathroom. Feyre sighed. She didn't want to reject him, but him being in here with her while she was constantly peeing wasn't all that comforting for her. She was in love with him, she was even pretty sure she loved him, but she wasn't comfortable with letting him see her like this. This level of intimacy was still a bit too much.

Sighing again, Feyre rolled off some toilet paper and wiped herself off. But when she glanced at the paper, she hesitated a moment before flushing it down. _Was it pinkish?_ No, that was probably just her skin color shimmering through the wet paper. Feyre shuddered at the thought of those vile bacteria on her hands now and quickly washed them. But the next time she wiped, she checked the paper again. And again. And again the next time.

And when she looked into the toilet the next time she had released a bigger amount of fluid, she had her confirmation.

Feyre got up, washed her hands meticulously and went to find Rhys. She found him sitting at his computer in the living room, watching some videos on YouTube, probably to distract himself from her occasional cries of pain.

“Rhys?”

When their gaze connected, Feyre swore she could see the exact moment when his look of mild worry tuned into one of naked fear at the sight of her face.

“I'm peeing blood.”

☽✴☾

Feyre had to admit, Rhys’ way of panicking was very efficient. Well, he was the head of a large company after all, but now she could see for the first time just how much the role of a leader suited him.

He immediately sent her back to the bathroom to wait for him, while he looked up the nearest emergency clinic and went to fetch his car from its nearby garage. He had ordered her strictly not to drink any more water, so she wouldn't need to pee as often, and keep her cell phone close when he brought Feyre her purse, coat and shoes. She was to sit still until he had brought the car around and called her to come out, making use of every minute she had access to a toilet until they reached the clinic.

Feyre didn't dare defy him. She was shocked that her simple infection had turned into a literal bloody mess within a couple of hours and the constant pain slowly chipped away her stubbornness and reluctance to have Rhys help her.

For once, Feyre was actually really happy to have someone to rely on. In her precarious state, she wouldn't have made it to the clinic, seeing as she didn't own a car and public transport was not the best mode of transportation for someone who had to pee every 5 minutes or so. Feyre was especially glad to have Rhys with her when he served as her dummy in the clinic's waiting room, while she spent most of her time waiting on the toilet, cursing herself for all that water she had drank.

And she deeply grateful for the company and solace he provided, the way he tenderly brushed her hair away from her face or hugged her close before she jumped for the toilet again. She wasn't used to relying on others, but she sure could get used to relying on him.

“Feyre Archeron?”

“Yes, that's me.” Feyre got up and gave Rhys a quick kiss, before following the nurse to see the doctor.

“So….” The doctor didn't even look up and greeted her but instead eyed her chart, which must’ve contained the lab results from her earlier urine probe.

Feyre couldn't blame him. It was 7:30pm on a Sunday and he had probably dealt with boring cases like nosebleeds and headaches all day. But she was still annoyed at being ignored to completely.

“Ms. Archeron, the protein levels and inflammation markers in your urine are fairly high. Those are signs for an infection in the urethra.”

_No shit. Tell me about it_. But Feyre tried to keep her face neutral. Not that the doctor was looking at her.

“I'll prescribe broad-spectrum antibiotics, you are to take one pill a day until the blister is empty, even if you feel better after a day or two.” He tipped something into his computer, printed out the prescription, scribbled his signature on it and handed it to her. The whole time, he didn't bother looking at her once.

“Thank you.” With that Feyre got up and left. 45 minutes in a waiting room (or more like the adjacent toilet) on a Sunday evening for not even 2 minutes of talk and a prescription. The doctor hadn't even bothered asking for other symptoms, inquired about how she was feeling or given her further interactions on how to behave. It’s not like she and Rhys were massively freaking out because her urine sample had looked the color of a Sex on the Beach or something. Charming fellow.

Rhys frowned when she was back so soon. “What did he say?”

Feyre shook her head and pressed the prescription into his hands. “Seems like I have a bladder infection. Duh! Mind holding that? I need to go somewhere,” she said and was off to the toilet again.

The pauses between her bathroom visits had become longer now that she had stopped drinking excessively, but she still couldn't hold her water. When she reemerged, Rhys was waiting in front of the bathroom for her with her purse and coat.

“I asked for the next night pharmacy for your prescription. You want me to take you home first and go get it for you, or do you think you can manage to come with me, darling?”

Feyre gave him a thankful little smile. “I'll come with you.”

They immediately regretted that decision, when they found the pharmacy they were looking for no longer existed and they had to search for the next best option. By the time they arrived at the second pharmacy, Feyre really needed a toilet. Again. The pharmacist wouldn't let her use his, so she chose the next best option.

She burst into the neighboring Chinese restaurant, declaring for all the world to hear she was in need of a toilet and rushed down the hallway the stunned waitress had pointed out for her. Only when Feyre winced through another painful release did she realize how embarrassing her entry must have been. The way Rhys kept chuckling on the way to the car confirmed it for her, but as soon as they buckled up and pulled out of the driving way, all humor was gone from Rhys and he grew silent again.

“Rhys?”

“Hm?”

“I know you are worried and eager to be home, but I’d rather piss my pants than die in a car crash,” Feyre remarked reaching for the overhead handle when Rhys, instead of breaking, accelerated at an intersection as the light turned yellow. He was speeding through the empty streets like a maniac.

Rhys exhaled in a great whoosh of breath and slowed down--marginally. “I’m sorry, I’m just worried we’ll get stuck at a red light and I have to find another restaurant for you to burst into,” he admitted, not without a hint of mischievousness.

A weak giggle bubbled on Feyre’s lips but died immediately when her bladder made its presence known again. As if anyone had forgotten the blood-peeing elephant in the car.

“Hey Rhys?”

“Hm?”

“Actually, I think I prefer the car crash.”

☽✴☾

“Darling, why don’t you want me in here?”

The second they had made it home, Feyre was back on the toilet and Rhys was back on perched on the rim of the bathtub opposite to her, staring at her like a wounded puppy she had kicked when she had asked him to leave the bathroom.

Exhaling a frustrated sigh, Feyre buried her face in her hands. “It’s embarrassing,” she finally confessed. “I’m sitting on a toilet, I’m peeing--it’s unsexy as hell!”

Through her fingers, Feyre could see Rhys furrowing his brows and angling his head questioningly. “And?”

“And?” Feyre threw up her hands in exasperation. “It’s awkward as hell! I’m awkward as hell. What if you don’t find me attractive anymore afterwards?

“Is it about this about your sex appeal again? Fey, I don’t think you’re any less attractive because I’ve seen you pee or being sick”

“But you’re a fucking sex god that’s oozing sexiness wherever he goes and I’m a walking catastrophe!”

Rhys had the audacity to burst into laughter. Feyre cheeks burned.

“Don’t laugh!” she hissed.

Rhys wanted to come over and kneel before her, but Feyre held out a hand. “Don’t!”

He sat back on the bathtub, chuckling. “I think we need to talk about self-perception here. Feyre, whenever I’m around you, I feel like I degenerate into a horny teenage boy that can’t even look at you for 3 seconds without getting a raging hard on. To me, that doesn’t sound like a sex god, don’t you think? You, on the other hand,...”

Rhys looked at her like she was not sitting on his toilet, sweaty from fever, but like she was a snack he desperately wanted to devour.

“You could pee your pants or be covered in vomit for all I could care, I still think you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I admit, I’m not interested in having sex with you right now, but that is more because I am worried about you being sick than me being repulsed by you. You pee. So what? I do too. We all do. Cassian even farts occasionally,” he added with a wink.

But Feyre still shook her head.

Rhys gave a sigh. “Did you know that the first I had sex, I didn’t manage to put it in?”

Feyre stared at her boyfriend with an open mouth. “Why are you telling me this?”

He shrugged, an amused smirk on his lips. “Maybe to dismantle that ridiculous sex-god-image you have of me. Maybe to show you, I’m just as much of a walking catastrophe as you think you are. Anyways, I kept trying and pushing. I mean I knew where to put it, but I was too afraid to hurt her, so I didn’t really push as hard as I needed to.”

Feyre snorted. Rhys gave her an amused smirk.

“So we tried around for half an hour I think, and then I just thought “fuck it”—literally--and shoved. Took me 2 thrusts and I came.”

Feyre was giggling.

“And then I freaked out, because there was blood everywhere and I thought I had stabbed her to death with my penis or something. Turns out, she was a virgin too.”

Feyre couldn’t hold it any longer--she started laughing, which caused her to pee. She winced through her pain, unable to stop cackling.

“And then we ran into some trouble with her mom, because the sheets were all bloody and her mom somehow knew it wasn’t from her period. If I remember correctly, that was actually the end of our fragile relationship.”

“But you’re so good at it now,” Feyre choked out, wiping a tear out of her eye.

“Why thank you darling. Good to know you enjoy it,” Rhys purred with a lewd grin. “I got better with practice.”

Breathless from laughter, Feyre admitted, “My first time was horrible, too. I thought I had to be super sexy, so I stole some of Nesta’s underwear. Problem was, during that time, I was flat as a board, so I actually didn’t fill out her bra. I stuffed some tissues inside to make it look like I had actual boobs, but they looked all weirdly shaped. And of course I didn’t think of how he would actually see that I’d stuffed my bra when I’d take it off. I didn’t realize that he’d try to do that, because in all the movies, they always keep their bras on, you know.”

Rhys gave a soft chuckle and stood up again, coming to kneel next to the toilet. This time, Feyre let him.

“What did he say?”

Feyre shrugged. “Nothing. We kept going and in the end he was kinda glad I had all those tissues for him to clean up with.”

Rhys barked out a laugh and squeezed her knee. “I once came by accident, because I had to sneeze,” he confessed in a conspiratory voice, making her giggle.

Feyre leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I once had to fart during sex and tried to mask it by moaning louder.”

This had Rhys throw his head back and bellow with laughter, before he, still laughing, clutched her face between both of his hands and pressed her lips to hers.

“This is gold, Fey!” he wheezed.

They kept trading embarrassing stories back and forth and with every cringy information they shared, Feyre felt herself grow less and less awkward around Rhys. They simply laughed and kissed the cringe away. It helped that, despite all the clumsy, idiotic and sometimes disgusting things he told her, she didn’t thought less of him, or found him to suddenly lose any of his abundant attractiveness. Feyre told herself that she could almost see his point about still finding her sexy despite peeing blood.

When Feyre managed to not pee for 30 minutes straight, they decided it was time to attempt leaving the bathroom for now. Rhys respectfully stepped out of the room so she could wipe herself off and flush the toilet.

She found him in the bedroom, slipping on a pair of grey sweatpants, and wrapped his arms around his middle, resting her cheek against his broad back, breathing in his scent.

“Thank you,” she said.

Rhys placed his hands over hers on his stomach. “For what?”

“For being you,” Feyre answered and pressed a kiss between Rhys’ shoulder blades. She could’ve sworn the tips of his ears were very, very red.

☽✴☾

Feyre was staring at her phone, dreading what she had to do. But there was no way around it: she had to call her sisters and tell them, she couldn’t take the plane today.

Her night had been short, her fitful sleep interrupted by several trips to the bathroom. Rhys had woken with her every time, patiently waiting for her to come back to wrap her into a hug and console her with a kiss, before they attempted to fit in another hour or so of sleep until the next bathroom visit.

By morning, they were both exhausted and painfully clear about one thing: Feyre wouldn’t manage a 3 hour flight plus trip to and from the airport without several bathroom breaks--or a diaper.

She had put off calling her sisters for several hours now, afraid of their reaction, but she needed to inform them. If anything, Elain had planned another 5-course meal for Christmas and was already in the middle of preparing it.

With a heavy sigh, Feyre dialed their landline and waited anxiously for one of them to pick up.

“Yes?”

_Shit_. Nesta.

Feyre swallowed and tried to go for a cheerful tone.

“Uhm, hi Nesta, it's Feyre. How're you--”

“What's wrong?” Nesta interrupted immediately.

Feyre gave up on her pretense and decided to go straight to the point.

“I won't be coming home. I have a nasty bladder infection and can't make the trip.”

She was met with silence on the other end. And then a blunt, “we're coming,” before Nesta hung up.

Feyre stared at the phone in her hand. Did she just say she and Elain were coming? To Velaris? Like right now?

Rhys stuck his head in the bedroom were Feyre had withdrawn to for the call.

“Hey, how did it go?” he asked.

Dazed, Feyre raised her eyes to his. “They're coming here I think. My sisters are coming to Velaris.”

Really, Feyre was somehow getting used to seeing Rhys panic-stricken face.

 


End file.
